Secret
by Fran Turner
it is pliable, taut, draws uke
off
balance,
turns his centre away
from attack
slightly maddening, beyond
realm of uttered or written word
it is overheard at reverie's
slippery edge or glimpsed
in the indigo inklings of dreams
it whispers into beginner's
efforts
and hints
and hints
and hints
through sweat-glimmered years
camouflaged in ordinary
it is there
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