On the Page

Where the lingering is
that white space
where the brush was
and the hand.

Now the eye takes umbrage.
False is white
hiding the narrative
where the angles and squibbles are.

You would prefer red, I know.
Color, the deceit, holds you entranced.
You want its secret
where the edges are.

It is lingering too
with body absences
the peroration of the declaimer
on the page.