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On Filling Time

photo courtesy of Creative Commons CC0When at first, my world was flat
I unfurled my hands like flags
and stroked old sketches into bloom
with bright-hued wands you’d bought for me
to color up people to fill in the time.

Like paper weedlings, bright and gauche,
they sifted from my desk and turned
the room into a micro world
of tiny faces that smiled like you
and made me see places I hadn’t yet drawn.

But though each populated page
held eyes and brows and scowls and poses
all to keep me company,
your face was not on any one,
so like an old scientist I sifted the leaves…

knowing I’d run out of paper
before you returned.

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