Not a Hair More

We no longer try to capture
anything with our pens.

There is no description
that bring life to life.

We know this now.

Sure, it’s ok to write about the tides or the mud monsters
that people eat for hors d’oeuvres.

It’s ok to go on and on about seagulls in flight
or the curvatures of cliffs.

To scribble relentlessly over the angles of city streets
or the anonymity of cars
passing all day and all night.

As long as these things are what they are
in our words.

Lying on the page just as the flower blooms or the cat yawns.

Just as a field ignites in a storm
or the rain falls and keeps on falling.

Let our letters lie nakedly as they are,
and not a hair more.