We cleared each shelf
pulled the straight boards
out, sanded, painted and then
I was left alone
sieving paper to page, my
page, any page,
some calling
out, assessed by level
of the writer’s interest
a gradation of tone,
rhythm, I got rhythm
out of this mind, and took
words that sent me over
each edge, hilarity and horror
romping any room, through-
out this life, with and with-
out, punctuation: Edith Head pinking shears, patty pan raccoon, vacuum, attune self to soul, agraphia, aphasia, burr hole to burr hole, happy camper
out and about.
Rebuilt shelf, bookish, page to
page, calling out.