Nobodies’ voices

Now is time we write dumb poem
And that will not mean but just be.

Let fruit be ,as moon climbs moss
And night is less entangling a tree,

Only voices, with nobody in them.
Moon is gathering moss on ledge.

Voices come floating on low wind,
And they have in them nobodies.

(Taking off on a poem Ars Poetica BY Archibald Macleish)

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