WHITE PAPER AT MIDNIGHT

At midnight white paper demands

like some ancient soul.

The ritual lamp lifts higher.

How I fear this moment

to face you

as a witness you sought for years.

Right words earn favor.

(Who can say they won’t spill

the world toward nothing?)

Scales seek balance,

and may drive me from this splendid seat.

Dimensions. The luminous. Blind night. Drill bit.

So many brave points split boulders,

pierce the hidden path.

Clotted blood of the unlit skull,

by chance the sea urchin speared,

the pen’s slender tip volcanic.

Great resistance can’t stall joyous spring.

White paper, black strokes.

Night’s shifting frame,

words rolling in like waves,

what thief would claim

daybreak’s sacred sill?