Hands

The pencil was different in my hand.

It used to know what to do.

It used to move with purpose,

used to find the line between

the thing I saw and the thing

I was trying to make it become.

Now I'm just making marks.

Shaky lines that don't connect right.

The proportions are wrong.

The perspective is dead.

I used to be good at this.

I used to spend hours

and not notice time passing,

my hand doing what my eye told it,

a conversation between seeing and making.

Now there's a lag.

A hesitation.

The hand doesn't remember.

The eye is the same,

but the hand has forgotten

how to translate.

I threw the paper away.

Didn't even sign it.

What's the point

of drawing something

you don't recognize?