I'm where I wanted to be, this little desk,
a vase of flower. In these moments, the voice
is weak, the pen, loud and lively.
The relationship of ink to paper all feathery
tailed and eyes, a busy heart, a wind
in the dress of an owl; the one
that watches always.
Here night's cloudy spirals converge into
a tower on the sea, a flock of bird dispersed
like powder in the floodlights.
This is where I want to be, most beautiful
and helpless hour, the invisible bone
of word, white skeins of dream
and so the story.