The pen lies firmly between thumb and forefinger,
The empty page awaits the uncertain stroke.
A sigh, a glance – a dip to the pot and the alchemy begins.
A thesaurus is lifted and thumbed anew.
Darting, glancing, and leafing through the lavish pages,
The swish of rice paper whispers thoughts, to-ing and fro-ing
‘til the closing covers salute the word – an air of
gratitude and relief permeate the writing space.
The ritual continues – no rhythm, no rhyme.
The syntax of words across a page lie dormant.
They may awaken once more –
In the heart of the one who cares to read and listen.