Your face is calendar enough for me,
the lines, the seasons — what need of dates,
where light and touch and grace agree?
January 1, 2021
To write with the breath, to draw without touching a thing.
Are these not snow lessons, and the patient teachings of steam?
This pen. This page. These keys. How can I not touch them?
And from deep inside comes the reply,
When did this hammer and chisel grow wings?
Recently Banned Literature, January 1, 2018
[ 973 ]