The cover inlaid silver on leather felt good to the hand
You find the book in your hands,
it is starving for attention
harsh to the inner self
as pages turn you have to grow old
Scan it in order, strict order,
page one comes first,
page last you keep to the end
turn them gently
so that they land and settle with grace
do not let the pages
crease
or bend the corner
or you will not remember important details
the damage grows into obsession
that’s unkind to judgement
the shallow differents combine
and such isolation slips beauty
into an amalgam rarely
experienced by less than two senses