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Come, remainder caught beneath the nail;
come through the sheet that will not lift from my hand.
Take the paper; leave the wrist.
If the lower line demands a name,
let no one speak the name that is already there.
Here the scissors wait beside the ink I used to sign;
here someone holds my elbow while the letters thicken at my pulse.
For this room only. By my hand.
Come, remainder of the cancelled watch;
come through my father’s desk they paid me six weeks to clear.
Take the packing list; leave the books.
If the dome stays shut through another spell of cold,
let the grit rise from the orbit none of his plates confirmed.
Here his sleeve had rubbed the varnish from the oak;
here I wiped that place and found the cloth grew warm.
For this room only. By my hand.
Come, remainder finer than the soot;
come through the ruled page held above the stove.
Take the heat; leave the flame.
If I ask only for the missing sum,
let the strokes return without the pressure of his hand.
Here one wiped-out reading rose in strokes too fine for his old nib;
here I checked it against the plate and found it right to the last place.
For this room only. By my hand.
Come, remainder kept between the leaves;
come through the carbon I enclosed with my instructions in every box.
Take the copy; leave the source.
If another mouth can warm the strokes with breath,
let it raise no more than one erased line.
Here I called the dark grains salvage on the form;
here I left the name blank so that anyone could sign.
For this room only. By my hand.
Come, remainder brought in after dark;
come through the box the clerk must count before her bus.
Take the label; leave the cord.
If she finds the copied question putting out fine threads,
let her loosen them without completing what it asks.
Here she thinks the roots have caught her cuff;
here she reads the sentence printed on the lid to free her hand.
For this room only. By my hand.
Come, remainder cleared to leave the shelf;
come through the form returned with a departmental seal.
Take the space; leave the ink.
If the named custodian cannot stay,
let the next employee read the sentence at the foot.
Here WITNESS has been changed to READER in red;
here each office gets a copy with a space for one more person to sign.
For this room only. By my hand.
Come, remainder thick along the edge;
come through the copy she brings back beneath a jar.
Take my breath; leave her sleeve.
If the roots can choose between two sets of words,
let me follow where they go before I speak.
Here they cross my father’s figures in a single thread;
here they fork at every pause I taught the clerk to make.
For this room only. By my hand.
Come, remainder caught beneath the nail;
come through the sheet that will not lift from my hand.
Take the paper; leave the wrist.
If the name can still be severed from the form,
let the cut pass through the words I wanted back.
Here the clerk steadies my elbow as I work;
here half a sentence drops and takes its threads back from my skin.
For this room only. By my hand.
Come, remainder living past the cut;
come through the stub I fold around the loosened threads.
Take this drawer; leave her hands.
If I have left you nothing you can ask,
let that be the condition of your stay.
Here I shut the drawer on the half I could not burn;
here the carbon underneath has kept the question whole.
For this room only. By my hand.