​​And it was at that age...Poetry arrived

​in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where

it came from, from winter or a river.

I don't know how or when,

no they were not voices, they were not

words, nor silence,

​but from a street I was summoned,

​from the branches of night,

abruptly from the others,

among violent fires

or returning alone,

there I was without a face

and it touched me.

-Pablo Neruda

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​Digital Painter

​Mike Cetta

New Orleans