Sitting At a desk
Pupils small and straining in the light
Of your computer
Your fingers run speedily across the keys.
I stray from that path.
I stray from the keys.
I choose a method more ancient.
One that requires one to be more aware
Of your hands.
I sit and write
I scratch the paper in the most beautiful way known
There is something I find
About writing with a quill
The spirals of the letters dance
Fluidly from tip to paper.