New Book, open it

The cover inlaid silver on leather felt good to the hand

You find the book in your hands,
it is starving for attention 
harsh to the inner self
as pages turn you have to grow old

Scan it in order, strict order,
page one comes first,
page last you keep to the end

turn them gently
so that they land and settle with grace
do not let the pages
crease
or bend the corner
or you will not remember important details

the damage grows into obsession
that’s unkind to judgement
the shallow differents combine
and such isolation slips beauty
into an amalgam rarely
experienced by less than two senses