A sweep of molecules
Across my sheet of paper.
Every molecule is
Ready to cut with a million practised movements
To cut out words from the page
And leave them floating
On the safe harbour of my book.
The light has snipped through to the end of the story.
Yes, that is their teacher on the beach
But the men in the boat, they don’t recognise him
They will, soon.
The light of the morning
Will do some more snipping
There’ll be words, and more words.
More words than fish
More words than a fisherman
Can catch before light.