Paper

There is a certain satisfaction that comes

with shrinking language and imagination

to a rectangle, fitting black-and-white

words into a prescribed length and width

given human depth through inscription.

The filled sheet of paper almost

transcends its smoothness and thinness,

its very blank expression and dullness.

It reveals exactly what it is meant to say

and the colors one wants to see in it.

Move the imprinted strokes up and

it becomes the verisimilitude of art; 

move the line down and there exists 

scientific equations in plain view;

give it power- and it becomes money,

an official stamp- and it’s the recorder of

birth/death and everything in between.

All of it can drift away if unbounded and

catch fire with the right or wrong spark.