She gets through five blades a day –
sharpness is crucial.

It’s the only way of seeing:
there must be no ragged edge,

no half-cut, no tentative in then out
so the paper loses its line and stays

merely flat, undefined.
The best moment of cutting is

when a new blade meets new paper.
It happens with a breath,

held then released, then she looks up
out of her studio window:

green grass, a blackbird.
So there is then a world

that isn’t white?
But the knife is demanding –

it rubs against her callused finger –
it is waiting.