Writing

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.

Pause now.

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.

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