Black on White

This is why I like to write:

These perfect forms of black on white,

As they rollick atop as if on air

On clouds of paper, free and fair.

I test the waters with something true

Like robin’s-egg blue,

Or ocean surf,

Or anything I can name 
From my own home turf.

My words venture forth in a stumble,

While I seek the speech of my self’s own mumble.

I greet the night as I greet the day,

With words shaped from thoughts like clay.

Letters spill forth, as I type to keep pace

With inner visions seeking outer space.

Just black symbols formed amid white gaps —

Nothing is final and nothing lasts.