He put something up on what was once called his wall
What might have been a bulletin board in another time
Or on another server servicing another program altogether
Noting the love a novelist long gone would have had for
An export from Lake Geneva
And I commented in turn
Wondering what works would have been
Had that export not rolled out onto the grid
Into the hearts and minds of many

I stand by the comment
Knowing the hours and days and weeks and months and years
Spent poring over tome after tome after tome
Sitting with pen or pencil in hand poised over the paper
Sitting and staring at the screen my flicking fingers foist pixels onto
Doing my part for the magic Mackay makes a scholarly project
Crafting my own small part of a world that lives
Nowhere but in memory
Mine and others’
Instead of bound between covers on shelves and for sale
But I am not sure I would be better for the exchange

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