Poem: Something was done that was more

Something was done that was more

was something in the way
that might be called that
with the right meaning
to mean more
and that is hard to get right,
isn't it, hard to get just the way
it means to be, because
there is nothing
but what is present,
but the little things,
the words here and there
are not enough
to also mean
what is missing
from their shapes,
what is not carried
by the line alone.
I do not know
if it is done
or even understood
or if it can be,
or if, instead,
the best thing
is a mystery
that may not be
the same again,
is not mine to name
or to recognize,
is just what comes
and not what
I placed down.

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