Surprise

You search around whatever’s left up
on the shelf for stuff to conjure up
a simulacrum of yourself but can’t.

You’d settle for a bit of living essence
to implant somewhere and maybe turn
into a friend. You learn there’s reason

to believe you can achieve that end.
You plunge your pen into your folderol,
and some of it – as you caress, cajole,

undress, or strike it – awakes and sighs.
You rub your eyes at the surprise:
it doesn’t have to look like you to like it.






.