I peel at the bark of the thick trunk,
As opaque pale sap dribbles down the height.
The fiber inside this precious tree
Will weave a page of blank, spotless white.
I dunk the fiber into a vat,
Then another, then another.
I bleach and bleach the fiber til
The only one color reflects any other.
I roll it out, so it’s flat flat flat,
Light and delicate as a whisper.
Pure nothingness on the front and back,
The product is finally here.
I package it in a plastic sleeve,
And send it off for overseas.
They’ll sell it to the little kids,
Who will use the paper to draw trees.