Rewriting "Litany" by Billy Collins

You are the pen and the paper,

the inkwell and the ink.

You are the song on the radio

and the thumping beat of the speakers.

You are the black eyeliner of the teenage girl,

and the earbuds suddenly yanked from her ears.

However, you are not the writing on the page,

the scuff marks on the floor,

or the posters on the walls.

And you are certainly not the soles of her shoes.

There is just no way you're the soles of her shoes.

It is possible that you are the slide cream in the case,

maybe even the mouthpiece at her lips,

but you are not even close

to being the sheet music when she plays.

And a quick look in the mirror will show

that you are neither the book on the shelf

nor the backpack slouching on the ground.

It might interest you to know,

speaking of the prolific scenery of this world,

that I am the smell of homemade cookies.

I also happen to be the blue moon,

the sound of the bell after a long day

and the box of donuts in the car.

I am also the early morning mist

and the unoccupied parking spot.

But don't worry, I'm not the pen and the paper.

You are still the pen and the paper.

You will always be the pen and the paper,

not to mention the inkwell and-- somehow-- the ink.