Taken On: Prose Poem

Even if I’ve forgotten how to interpret the shadows

Photo by Crina Parasca on Unsplash

Is it that I do not tell the truth, is that it, that some day somehow I may tell the truth at last and then no more light at last, for the truth? — Beckett

If I ever knew the truth — that would be
something worth writing home about — so many kilometers from home, now, that I write this — can I figure