With book in hand, spellbound, I embody
split where body is here but mind is there,
where, in private communion I gladly
let myself delve into a writer’s lair.
Magic black scratches on blank page transport
my ever inquisitive attention
to the thoughts from an other who exhort
me to an ever expansive vision.
In defiance of laws of space and time,
I singly read what stranger writes singly,
and within this dual exchange sublime,
out of this world opens from a to z.
A book is a friend of most giving kind,
its sole purpose is to broaden the mind.