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I dreamt I wrote a poem in which I used 

a word that does not exist: replenatory.

bastard of resplendent, planetary.

your resplendence, your planets, your 

gravitational field that attracts objects into orbit.

I am at the edge; force so close that if 

I reach out I can skim that cloud of dust

like a children’s toy magnetic drawing board. 

those minuscule particles appeared wherever you 

placed your pen. the magic of the magnadoodle

was that you never saw the line til you drew it, 

though it was there all along. did the pen hold 

the power? or was it something in the fragments? 

we pull or are pulled. we can’t always tell 

the difference.