The Reader

(Found here)

The book sat on the table
for years
before it opened to a page
exposed to light
for the first time.

In their new surroundings
the words trembled
shaking all meaning
from their assembly,
the reader unable to enter.

Then the ink began to run
past the margins
to the mahogany to the floor,
random drops collecting themselves,
expanding from within.

The reader saw fit to stand
by the window,
following a cloud
till it stalled in front of the sun,
sweeping its passage along eyes closed.

As the sky proceeded
to draw the ink from the floor,
affixing the once-quivering words
to the slow-moving cloud,
the reader read the page in the dark.

And when the day’s shadows turned in
for the night
the book closed as it had opened
without a hand,
the reader calling it a day

of prayer.

~Howard Altmann