TE17 Mysterious Montenegro

Three Texts

them the time and the warmth that they need.

Perhapswith Pastamadre I have started toyieldmywordswithout losing them. To give my words to others, and to things, without language, yet able to resurface in the silence of mine. If I think about how writing has formed me over the years, I recognize how, slowly, the space of listening has given my words to me, as well as the courage to take them. Great is the debt that I owe to fellow writers and literary mentors who have been dams and embankments to my uncertainty. Their lucid gaze saw what I would glimpse only with time. Theirs are the hands that I, safeguarded in their warmth while I write, have carried and carry on the back of mine. To name them one by one would take on the appearance of a greeting, of a leave- taking. I prefer tocontinuewith theweight of their hands pressing down, firmly and lightly, towards another form, another dough.

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