I was drawing – it must have
been a dazzling display,
the brand new ebony
lay perfectly in my
hand, I explored every
crown and hollow,
relentlessly left
my mark on the page,
shamefully boasted
that I had seen – how
much patience my eye
was forced to
illustrate, the gradual
unveiling of every
line, a process familiar
to those who draw from life.
And as my eye traveled
between object and
page, I embraced the moment
in which it grew large
enough to encompass
both at once – an impossible
reality, that indefinite
clarity before the last
bit of white was devoured.