Let’s say we
have nothing and
start from there. Then that burns and
from its ash we make ink.
Let’s say we can write but
have no words.
Let’s say we can sing.
What if we had songs but no
ink, brush, voice.
What if we swept the floor with
a swan’s wing and the whole
day lifted and we could begin again.
What if all we had left
was a match and
nothing to burn.
This poem appears in the December 2026 print edition.