the book
fell apart in my 
hands

all the words
escaped
in a sigh a 
moan a wail

where is the librarian
when you need her
or him

bring a broom
a mop a basket to
catch up
contain
all the empty
pages

words are
free

yesterday's yesterday

passing so quietly

barely remembered

today and yet

there is an impression

like bronze struck

on an anvil

can be inscribed with

lines hatches and

small dents

simply observing

coneflower butterfly bee

this morning's prayer