With apologies to Rudyard Kipling, I offer this poem / prose / moment.

I don’t know why this appeals to me — writing over text, or, what I’ve been calling overwriting.

It’s something about paper, smooth but with tooth, and the way the pen rides across the old printed page. Newsprint shares this quality, and I sometimes write on old newspapers too.

It’s something about how the hand and pen feel at ease, so that the mind relaxes too. And it’s something about text as art; when repurposed, how it can shine as a form of design.

Maybe this overwriting is writing without thinking (my favorite kind of writing). Maybe writing over a previous text enhances the temporary feel, so that the pressure to “write good” is lessened.

The page opens, the pen allows, the words roll out and over, layered against another story, another meaning, connected to a newness that is rooted in oldness. Who knows what will surface, what will emerge?

An Habitation Enforced

It isn’t always birdsong here

but the steady song lulls you

into a new faith that says

this is how it always is,

and so you believe the

birds travel your path and

fish swim close just for you, and

the waves, they are but a

gentle roll, a reminder of

what you have to lose.

On the shore, you see

a man waving.

You think

this is love

calling you home.

— Drew Myron