Nobody without a home, yet

another footprint on a world that needs nothing

A foothold I can call my own, a place that would forever accept my step
I wander on blank sheets of paper,

I wanted to write about that piece of empty space that is home to all

Dip the page in water, they say, and let the ink run by itself.
A paper vase with animals primitively drawn 
Turning the vase in my hands, the animals run, bleeding, until the vase contains something.
(Write something into the vase)
writing curled round its inner walls, saying “The truth is no-w-here.”

now I etch it in wood carvings

the medium of the woods I wandered 

on blank sheets of paper until
I was accepted into the Hall of Trees.

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