white and open,
this sheet for me.
forty-four years now of fascination
and no end in sight.
every time i see an open field like this,
it fills me with anticipation.
dream landscapes, i’m sure, completely sure,
are ready under this thick snow blanket,
ready to form and roll and move at any time.
all that is needed is a pen,
to draw a line, another one, then five, then twelve,
twelve thousand,
across its white expanse.
thick pads of juicy paper:
each sheet a miracle.
(this is another NaPoWriMo experiment: i just went through a good two dozen of my old poems to see which one i’d feel inclined to improve a bit. this one, written in 2005, is an example)