for Will Brown
When the next word comes humming, you can act. Then,
later, when you told yourself you would cater
to the voices you honor and long for, then you
have a place to begin; home, a grave,
by the river, in the attic, high
for the first time. Your pen before
ink runs dry. Sins to just think.
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Thanks for sharing this, Thom.
Thanks for the reminder.
Lately, I’ve let the noise of life drown out the humming. Need to figure that out, then perhaps the tune will come.
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