the thing is/not

a slim woman slants
water

from a squat
jug

into a glass
tumbler

every lie
hides
its truth

the thing
is not what
but else

there is a where
neither consonants
nor vowels

hush
there
the bell

yet to ring
already can’t
be un-rung

I sense
an unknown
silence

where
thoughts unform
float

and I wish you
a happy over
lap

by the creek
of slippy
descant

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