Summoned we are, summed up
in syllables and symbols of our
various selves. We stock our shelves
with coffee, tea, words. We rise
early, stay up late, breathe ink
into the in betweens. We find
the notion of being bored absurd,
as there is never enough time,
never enough paper, never
enough. We hold days loosely
under nib of pen, parched
for parchment and indigo,
or the quiet light of keys. Please
us with small packages wrapped
in fragment, string, and song,
show us how to be
-long in a world that demands
movement, sway, more from a day
than all these fluttered fingers.
Then, let us linger over just
this one last phrase.
Prompted by Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, day 15.