I Love Your Handwriting

I love how its scribbles.

Quake on the loose-leaf.

I want its shake-down, I want it to lend its authority.

Your hand is a train,

Moving the language to be so entrenched in ink that it could forget,

Not to die on the blue line;

To balk at periods.

All the lists you make

end in "s". they're needy. in a frenzy of giving.

A pattern of "and" and "more".

They fight cursive

The "i" dots in individuality.

Proclaims that humans are complex,

That circles can hang alone,

The loops reach above the sentence

Your handwriting

So unconfined.

Here you land, expect to root.

You go on, pushing your fingers tight knuckled against the pen.

You listen

You excerpt

Appear to stop,

Lean back

Break.

Focus behind your eyes

Furrow,

Write again.

I love your handwriting

I love how it makes the page look

Used and told, between stick figures.

It struggles with pretense and poise,

It claims nothing but itself.

It makes me want to roll in its self-assured simplicity,

I want to soak in its complicated urgency until it is mine.

And between your fingers

The pauses

Where your pen

Upside-down

Tapped loose-leaf.