once the pencil scribes, the mark remains
lead stains and creases, the paper is informed
fabric, stitched, etched, scratched, yarn’s
single thread woven into warp and weft,
pencil stroke the shuttle cock’s path, the chain
of alphabet flows back into the lead, the hand
leads, reaches back to before to pull meaning
into the eye of you anew clean through, though
it makes an indelible mark for life.

This Poem Is To Be Read In A Mirror