Past the fieldThrough the briarBy the breaths of people lingering in the lightPast the smokeInto the millCreeping closerWith the stealth of a catUp the stairsAnd onto the windowsillLike a hawk in its nestA pencil and paperAnd a breathtaking viewWith an ideaAnd new perspectivesShe put the pencil to the paperAnd as though the paper was a ballroomAnd the pencil a dancerShe wrote.