I pulled out the marker blind
I'd take whatever color came
and any paper would do
The first mark appeared
a quick twisting thing
another and then some shorter ones
What drove my hand became
the next and next mark
the impatient pleasure of making
Something without a name yet
whose future of not unlimited
possibility resembles my own
I worked without a plan I played
artist full of the moment
lost like a boy in a sandbox
The idea arrived at some point
a few strokes confirmed it
announced it named it and finished
Like a bell suddenly silent
tacked up forgotten until
this morning when I saw
The garden not the garden the picture
not of the garden but the garden
that was the picture of my
Hand in motion yesterday making
something unimportant but hungry
something kind of free
5.6.98