First, the elements of the pencil
Graphite in a long thin cylinder
Sandwiched in a hexagonal cedar casing,
The metal ferrule holds a rubber eraser,
And so, I feel connected to the earth.
Paper in the notebook comes from trees,
And I sense its texture (like 800-grit sandpaper)
As I form these letters, much as I have
For decades, I am linked to myself
And my past.
The poem finished, the spell breaks
As I tap cold, slick plastic in front of
A hard screen to bring
This poem to the
April 12, 2017