Page Turner


The boat capsizes and the army advances the angels sing and

the hero reigns supreme.  Within my hands such things are possible, they

feel the drumbeat and in their eagerness, my fingers turn.  Page after page

they delight not in the sense of touch, but the texture of words.


Guided by divine reality in the interest of escape.  Not the ordinary

day-to-day.  Willed forward by the dull adventure and the remarkable nothing.

In my fingers there travel secrets, stories, lies and joys.  If and when a stall

then the labor of it is quickly borne again to keep on and on and then.


When the pages go, my fingers dance across the words in anticipation of

the next-ness.   Though my eyes may be weary, my fingers dance.  They hold the place

of entering and exiting.  They are greedy in their seeking.  Alas when I can no

longer, they reach in reticence to bookmark.  They are still awake and wanting.



photo by Barbara Paulsen at

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