I live in writing.

My feet set off ripples of words

upon the blank page.

Characters splash like fish below me

puppeteered by my mind.

They swim in shifting mazes.

When I look to the horizon, I don’t see the end.

I take some steps, leaving ink and jog towards the endless skyline

the fish dance below me as I navigate them through life like a lighthouse.

I run towards the setting sun.

When the paper shakes in tumultuous waves,

and the fish find dead ends,

I dip my head down with them and say hello.

We chat about them, and we chat about me,

all until the paper calms itself

and my words can spread safely.