Where the reach for a pen
is more meaningful--where
its clouds tower magnificently
and frighteningly tall and
the planet they blanket
goes on turning, wobbling,
smoking, forgetting.
This IS it!
This white-gold spidery
hymn is all
she'll ever sing and
is
all my ears will drink
to get fat with.
(An ink song?
Sew on my back
a tank of
colour and I'll
be on my way.)