Scribal

 

Ink is silent.

Our comings and goings
will not cease for paper.

Smooth the sheet, inhale the thoughts.
The white grains meet your fingertips.

Twirl a script from around your wrist
and stain the blank to black.

Flow the notions to the nib and sculpt them
onto the waiting page. Rest.

The words will remain trapped
until softened eyes nourish them.

The ink silently awaits
the reader who next frees it
into a dance of its own.

The dance is scribal.