I confess it. I’ve become a painter.
But without canvas or brushes.
In fact, I create images with words,
Written between lines on yellow’d pages.
It gets messy in my studio sometimes,
When all the pens empty in unison –
It’s as if they are somehow connected
To each other, like they communicate.
They demand to be refilled at once
and often I spill drops of ink
at the margins and on the corners.
And it is at that moment –
And the cleanup – that being
a painter becomes me.