after a photo by Saul Leiter, “Paris, 1959”
in Paris, a café
a tiny round table
she writes on the smallest
scrap of paper available
her words must be exact
precise, capable of
economy of space
all to be accomplished
with a fountain pen
there is a seltzer bottle
there is a newspaper
there is coffee, there is milk
there is sugar, there is no
bottle of ink, there is a haze
in the air, there are passersby
because she is outside
and the light is exquisite
Paper time
Paper is a Time Machine, but it only goes backward in time.
Don’t ask where it begins, I don’t know where to begin,
but I know when you read you’re transported back in time.
I’m certain of that, but not much else. Is it part of the pencil
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