if surrounded by people
I slip into myself.
a book tucked neatly onto a shelf,
conceals stories of lone imperfection.
the letters, sent somewhere
go away. on a journey
towards an address
with no name.
I am
remain the same
yet unchanged.
a heart of coal remembers how the gull’s cry
woke me from dreams of low esteem.
I am with a wind that knows my name
it carries the s…
