That night before I go to sleep,
I open the notebook to a blank sheet.
I feel the scratch of my pen
against the rough page.
I draw the bubbling stream
pouring into the blue-green pool
near the Sitting Stones.
Then I draw a person, maybe Malia,
going into the water,
and when she comes out she’s a golem,
earth-colored, made of clay.
But that doesn’t seem completely right.
She’s not a creature.
And neither am I.