On Possibility

The sea glimpsed through glass --
how many words are held in
this little ink pot?

On the Gift of an Inkpot

This sepia ink
seems to hold a hint of blood --
a trace of old wounds?

On Winter Writing

Sparrow in the snow.
A punctuation of tracks -
black ink on paper.

On the Passage of Time and Favourite Writing Implements

The black ink rises.
How thirsty my fountain pen!
Dry from long neglect.