All that can be made are dots
At any point along the axes
Or in between, in quadrants
But no amount of desperation
For a trend line can force a fit
And only so many points can go onto the grid
On a given day, in a given week
And so, I often feel scattered
As though there is no coherence
And of course there is never coherence
Between dots on a page at points
But when I need to feel
That things make a little sense
If I think carefully
And remember the right things
A beautiful curve appears on the page
Slicing through the dots
Bringing things together, as they are together
This vision brings clarity
Even if it's a farce
And it helps me get back to marking
Dot after dot after dot
Roman Ryan 