In the Cut

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As I stand here
Alone and free
I’m full of color, dark and light
Full of fragrance, full of fight

Yet no one is here to see
Is there really me?

Without a witness to my rise and fall
Am I quite alive at all?

I hold so much I feel so much
But how do I exist without your touch?

Age old
Yellowed gold
Are the trees enough to see
Is the sky enough to see

If there’s no breath but mine
Is the silence here to save me
Is it my very enemy?

What is art if not for show.
But there’s art I make and art I know

Am I relieved to live for me?
Or do I cease to be?

I’m living in the cut
That small divide
That separates what’s in here and what’s outside
And how do I know which is which
If you’re not here indefinite?

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