I translated a poem that didn’t exist yet

I was standing in a hallway made of old book spines, and a child handed me a notebook with no writing. I opened it, and the pages were blank—but when I started to write, the words came out in a language I’d never seen, but knew by heart. I translated it into English, not knowing what I was saying, only that each sentence felt like a confession I’d been saving since before I could speak. When I finished, the child looked at me and said, 'That’s exactly how it sounded in your voice.' The coffee on my desk is cold now. I don’t remember making it.