Blank White Sheet

I long for the weight of this blank white sheet,
A field as yet unsown, to be lifted from my shoulders.
I pry back every rib of my confined heart
To seek what hides in its depths.

I mount the wind as it blows across the field,
Before it leaves, a train without its passengers,
The stops ahead each slowly descending slopes
To find a rodeo bull caged in his stall.
I clamber up his side and we wrestle
Until our words are written in the dust.

I will scream at the top of my lungs,
As my small fingers brush the crop of new summer wheat,
Leaving as I run muddy footprints
All over this blank white sheet.

(Thank You to my beautiful soon-to-be-wife for helping me craft this one).