your words are like stars which glimmer and gleam
which I read through and study, and hold to the book
the stars, and your words, since the day I was born
were fixed to determine my fate
I would try so hard to bind your image
to my fingers, like spindly spidery legs
they click and they clack and they click and they clack
dance in a whirling treadmill of a dance
if your image I had, and not an idea, a wish, a thought
if pictures, if pictures in spidery webs
my fingers, if pictures, could draw! and not thoughts