Harrison Pierce, Untitled #12

A single line,

slightly curved, barely arced,

comes into focus on an otherwise empty canvas of pure light.

The figure shifts and becomes a hand, a wrist, and a smile,

the light flickers and the room grows dim,

time becomes little more than a word as

lines and numbers and figures collide.


The hour is dark and the world forgotten.


The words and numbers and smiles and whispers come together once more.

A rush of blood to the head and a loss of self,

moments blur into one act,

emotion takes over,

and the figures

turn the pages

all on their own.


A moment of comfort in the dark.



clarity and awakening take hold, as the single line

filled with laughter, promise, and mirth flee.

Time returns with an echoing pulse,



The hands twitch unforgivingly.

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