He tries to read between the lines, to
take it all in, make it make some sense,
He reads back over pages
he often does not recall having written,
and others he remembers writing but
can’t imagine why.
He always reads
with special interest the ubiquitous
blank page; focuses his concentration
on page after page filled with nothing.
All of it fills but almost none of it satisfies.
The book is destined for the shelf; its peers,
similarly incomplete, await.
has been left out too long; nothing
will bend itself to be bound.
RDP Sunday ~ TIDBIT