I see What isn't there and what might be: All the pages falling open. Out of my grasp The future floods my fingers: The blood that binds the bone For us a given, unforgiving known. (All I've known unknowing) Although I'm stumbling onward on the words The script is always clasped Within my hand, encrypted. (Now I see) A loosening grip, A palm asweat from clenching... The binding's ripped, leaves fluttering to the floor. The book slips through my fingers, All the pages falling open.