A New Kind of Paper
The air in this room makes us sad.
Soft light lands and pops
on your clavicles
like soap bubbles.
The restoration crew comes and goes
like field medics
with their state-of-the-art drying
techniques.
It all moves so quickly.
We cut each other’s hair
and stare the daisies down until yellow
nearly stares back.
I am slow on the take,
and you save me.
The restoration crew is nuts
about your idea
for a new kind of paper.