Suppose I drew the day instead,
with a pencil, for god’s sake,
a dear old wooden karandash,
no ink to spill, no words to spell,
just lines and lines and lines
going out and coming home
or never, off the edge!
into the néant but most
stay here, on the paper, round
and round and with pointy hats on,
circles and sketched cubes,
scribble to mean shadow,
shapes like legs and shapes like eyes,
lines folded on themselves
in passionate embrace,
sensuous empty space, room
for you and me and you and you,
a fingerprint of the very moment,
a blueprint of right now.

                                              8 August 2020