how it started this time

Absent fingers hold a pen
and curl around its shaft
solid black and slender
it cannot taste the purity
of the paper
that lies barren and untouched
a chintzy ivory
leaking anamnesis and limning
in its empty vast swale
hinting that pages were once coated
in groups of letters telling stories
written words
telling tales

now the fingers meet resistance
they have been astray for so long
they fail to remember how
to swipe across the page
and curl their P’s
and dot their I’s

and the mind moving hand
finds that midnight words are flowing from the felt tip
suddenly,
words that slip
and tell of how my vagrant hands found home

Author's Note

It's the first time I've put effort into anything in years. Share your comments please :)