With worn spine and heathered binding,
it writes itself upon me -
words replace my fingerprints
with marks of more than ink.
With a cover of uncounted colors,
it intoxicates my vision –
passages supplant my eyes;
tattooed insights for each lid.
Each page I turn dispels to dust,
and clouds the air I breathe in –
yet magic flows through every mite;
my lungs transform in bliss.
Pure wizardry, this book exists!
It reads me now; as I read it.
Written
January 4, 2002
