"Everything we have words for is dead in our hearts."
It blew me away, the truth of that sentence. Why is it we as human beings find it so difficult to define things like "truth" and "love"? Because it is not dead in our hearts, because it is so very much alive in our hearts. In our centres.
'Trauma' keeps its actuality: it's the one poem that, in saying nothing at all, said it all. Not sure how to move on from that ...