The rituals of abidance
Taking a leaf from your book and weighing it between my fingers
is a task of spectacular dimensions
You abide by the narrow path between one side and another
where the mountains lie, dormant pressures
Gently alleviated,
speaking through a tube,
seeking the colour that is not perceptible
letting it flow like steam from the mantle
We exist for brief moments and then we are like vapour lifting from pages