ink spreads across the page
in blatant color

but some kind that I've
never seen before

sweaty palms grip a pen;
slide down to the tip.

so fingertips trace salt
on broken memories;

broken souls reaching out 
in fractals,
on fresh-from-the-printer
paper,

already
wrinkled like that
elementary school Valentine's day card
you kept, for some reason,
but this wisdom's come from
tears instead of 
age,

so fingertips smear ink across
a tree that hasn't seen the forest
in so, so long,

fingertips dip darkness into
tidepools, salty tears scattered
on the page,

watery strokes of black to gray
with tips fading
to a point;

these feathers lift off of the page
and your mind flutters
out the window,
half-second hesitations threatening
a hard fall to the 
medium-brown floor boards below your chair,

but let the thought go
now, you musn't dwell;
you put it out there,
now let someone
find it.

old-style wallpaper walls feel 
close,
a comfort
yet a cage.

But
writing gives me
wings.