The words start deep.
and race to my lips.
My mouth opens,
poised to speak.
The wind rustles,
sands swirl.
A lone bird caws.
Silence slides around my feet.
I stand
suspended
between speaking me
and
hiding, quiet.
So many years of quiet.
The moon waits, silvery.
The earth turns, slowly, till
the sun rises to a new day.
The words start. Then stop.
They start.
Stop.
Then finally, they fall.
Fall onto the page,
nourishing the cracked veins of my soul.
—Diane Douiyssi
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