I have never identified with something
as well as I do the spiral notebook in your hands.
The words, I haven’t read them enough
to know them by heart, but I can see the letters
you erased when they were no longer right.
And I can see the phrases you crossed out
in haste because they never really worked.
Maybe it will take two hours, two weeks,
Or two years, but one day that wide-ruled
Sheet of paper with the perforated edge
Will wind up crumpled at the bottom
Of the bin, and I will never be the same.