once again, awake to her presence
my hardcover of storage opened
as I am left near by and highly aware.
where her use of soft eyes
would walk her through, page after page
as reading appeared as a look –over assessment
and the script or font to her,
was just fashionable apparel.
meaning would stand up tall
almost as imposing,
with hills and valleys to her feelings
on display yet often disguised
behind a situational import
believed to be storyline relevant.
but for me, more importantly,
she would weigh the turn of the page.
the shift of slight tonnage
from one side of the book to the other.
page numbers perused in passing
as if an etiquette was a preliminary necessity.
who it was who was her reader
was in her service to comfort her
but more than meaning would essentially provide.
she made a bookstore or a library of means
a sanctuary for me.
there were walls of booklore opportunities available
but I only cared about her visual passage
that that would follow from her eyes
but got little meaning from what was read
not that it altered the mystery that prevailed
coming off of her like a fountaining statue
in a park of serenity.
I was the everlasting bookmark.
lying in wait.
at some point her hand would come and find me,
lifted closer to her face and then positioned
as if as a door-jam lodged in place
to a never ending story
that had passage into her mind
or more importantly for me, into her heart.
I would take warmth and pulse and the pressure
from her grasp as conversation
that carried me into those confinements
that would keep me privately attentive
until the covers of daybreak would appear once again
and I would thrive in the openness
and the embrace of the descent as import to measure
against my upwards return at sometime later.
her presence would be restful for me in waiting.
I lived from cover to cover, from book to book.
why my good fortune, I do not know.
that she was steadfast to read that way,
one at a time, my fortress of destiny.
but I am in the hands of my teacher,
my prophet, my mystic and my desire.
I learn from them all
in my life as in it’s service in passing.
fervent, blessed, and devoted,
I bed down in long rows of stoic symbols
only to arise to the light of my life.
I take it to be meaningful day and night sequences
as a bookmark life
and the import for me is fulfilling
through every page and page turn of the day
every book of the year.
and every glance indirectly sent my way in passing.