The poetry of ambiguity is akin to the poetry of the blindfold. Where everything might be and nothing quite is. The language of sight fails at the bend in the road. Fingers must turn eyes, feelings, headlights. The world is rendered unaccustomed, uninterpreted. Don’t be afraid! What is ambiguous is fragile, but dazzling, protected from disaster. The poetry of mist and shadows waltzing in a spotlight on thin ice.

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