Careful, small mechanical pencil, or found pencil drawings,
invisible molecules of led dust settle upon and mingle into silky warmly lit pages
Secretly sandstorms are weaving and pushing marks between the leaves
They bloom into inky coloured metallic wire branches,
and delicately poke through modern punctuation,
tying knots and threading cotton timelines
Coiling and stretching out to catch through spilt glitter hazes,
attaching and embellishing hand crafted lace surfaces preserved in a brittle sheen of sealing wax
Collections of paper leaflets and dried ink observe patiently as you hold up precious encased and bound sentences
which breathe
lightly and calmly, at the same time as your heart echoes it's noises, so that you only feel the pulses
You are standing by your window, at the panes of square glass, keeping out the cold
Probably wearing gloves indoors almost ready to get lost outside
When you return and the cold melts away quickly I imagine those echoes of characters keep you company.