fit to print


the word was turned to me
volumes spoken elsewhere
the availability was barely there
the immediacy was lost
somehow there i was
found in volumes

this quenching literate taste
words as turns of phrase
every printmaker stepping
for what i see i saw
somehow there you are
scribed in ages

our sameness is written on paper
the bomb and the book
the distance is ours to cross
the losses far less sudden
somehow there we are
with paper