My ink is never spilled.
It is carefully sprinkled upon the page.
Each droplet, a universe inside itself,
Connects to its adjacent neighbors
In liquid cohesion until my inkwell runs dry.
The result is a mass of blackness
Flowing on the page–each molecule
Of ink inseparable from the others, and thus
Must be absorbed in whole or not at all.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen