Free for a Moment


It doesn't make a sound
I leave it where it sits
away from the wet
the worn, pointer stained
black box
I stay silent in the warm escape
of the giant, white eraser
where the day's chalk runs off clear
smudges drawn off
in a crystal flood
The thick, blank pool
awaits my story
edits away the stain
the moments of jagged ink
sent swirling
Coaxed into a tired cloud
down the long, placid cord
burbling back to quiet ice
and empty stone sleep
Leaves me afloat
in the silk of soapy blank verses
un-churned future words
that are silent for now
where they cannot
yet get wet.

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