There is a pleasure
to the simple act
of slowly driving home
a pushpin
in
a firm cork board.
Of leaning into it
to find the moment when
resistance turns to yielding,
and the point begins to dig
its slow
insisting way
down to the core;
of living in that
sating feeling when
your pressing weight
has found its answer
in the final crush
of pin and cork,
and knowing that
they are
tightly bound together
by a physics
of their own.
