Printing postcards in
my turret made of stone - the
light echoes through each
of the five windows
and shines through my hair. My eyes
are torn between the
light and the ink. The
thick black lines of each page edge
are butterflied on
to the next. A room
of one's own. A stu-
dio. A place to
be alone with pens
and pencils and im-
ages inspired.