Calendars

In ten years, I dream of

sharpening a purple pencil crayon. 

Yep, that’s it. 

A purple pencil crayon.

One I’ve owned all these years.

It has to be the same one

and it can’t retire

just because it’s broken.

To unearth enough heaven

that the dyed wax nub goes dry.

It is the best life I could know.