Monday, 3 August 2015

Paper worlds

Like artists

On a clean sheet

Of stark white paper

we map the world

Small at first

dark outlines

pushing the pencil

deep markings

metallic trails

of the certain.

We branch out

into sketchier dreams

the swirls

of future plans

eraser marks

and fresh rubbings

the silver smudging

of change

on hands and wrists

Only when we think

It's all perfect,

that we have our eyes

on all the shadows

Will someone spill

Sunday morning tea

Staining it,

ageing it,

Then we colour over

the lines.