ACT OF TRANSFER
I watch my right hand
as it brushes across this paper,
my left hand holding the parchment still,
as a lover would cradle the face of his beloved.
Why do I dull myself on paper
if what I write for is wholeness?
In this moment, I am thought that desires
to remain thought in the imprint of thought.
I have never found terror in a blank sheet of paper.
I’ve only ever faced the complexion of joy.
—Nick Samaras