And you see: through the pupils of someone’s eyes
for a long time
the hearts of two pencils have been sharpening
or their own accord.
And the air is full of small particles
as if an entire sawmill
were grinding and whittling.
And you hope: for a portrait, a sketch,
a croquis, or at least for immortalization
in Malevich’s square:
all those are nice variations.
But of the whole of you –
not one draft, line or word:
just an unwilling punctuation
mark.
And you say: well, that’s something
and are already building
a bed for two
from pure heart and sawdust.