I can see the shape
of what I must say,
what I long to say,
but not how to fill it in.
The container is perfectly
made, seamless and clear;
there’s nothing inside.
In my conception, once I fill it
anyone reading it will understand it
at once, regardless of
their literacy, their language.
The moment they lift it
from the page and take it in,
they’ll be so moved…
yet somehow for too long
I have had
nothing to pour.
Dark Matter 
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