A rigid spine and rough pages.

Stacked together, corners meeting

Stitched together in a dimly lit office.

Glasses barely hanging 

On the bridge of their nose

As they bind the writing to the hardcover

With thread, I track on my fingers.

The printer, the pen, the ink.

The cartridge leaking dye,

Leaving spots in the wrong places.

The ink runs, as does melting wax.

A candle in the corner bleeding

Light into my library room.

A page turns and flame flickers.

Sparks fly near paper. A fire

Burning books lined on the path of power.

At the library in Alexandria

Fueled by feud and friction, a spark

Consumed the rhetoric, history, and tragedy

While leaving its own chronicle of conflict.

In Athens, an epic poem 

Recalled the fire of emotions

Ardent in a lover’s laugh. Sent to Egypt, and

Marked as romantic, it burned.

The roll, the seal, the papyrus.

Gone with the lover’s laugh. Now

The spine, the glue, the page spread. The book.