Could be memory.
Could be digital
Or a printed book.
It feels misleading,
Too general somehow.
You stare at your hands
Of information,
Wriggle the digits
You learned to count on
Taught your child to count
With as well. Nerves, skin,
Capillaries, bone,
Encoded content?
If you mean it, if
You really mean it,
Understand it’s you
Who makes it mean so,
And you ought to know,
What you meant isn’t
Content encoded,
Isn’t encoded
At all—those were wings
That were capable
Of flight without fall.
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