This winter's afternoon, I sit
here in my third-floor, lacquer-washed
little glass box.
The boss is away, and there is
just enough work, if I forget
the filing, to fill
half
the time until five.
(I find, somehow, that I can
always forget the filing.)
And so, I write.
When I'm done, I will take
these shaped-and-crafted,
thoughtful words,
and print them…