The day after
I finish a book
manuscript,
my green pen
returns,
after an 18-day
absence.
Mysteriously
at the bookstore
information desk,
weeks after
my inquiry.
Did some right-
minded person
find it wedged
in a chair cushion?
Is it, as it seems,
that it wanted
a holiday,
but glad to be back
it writes at once
without provocation,
ink flows,
in conjugal glee
it returns to the
black journal book.
Rejuvenated,
it gives of itself
again.
We begin all over.

5/11/02