Leafing Through Old Books

I tussled with a pile of leaves

Yellowed as the pages

Of old  books.


I wished to crawl beneath

Their crumpled edges,

Sliding with the silverfish,

With the desire to read

The places where

Rain had smudged the ink.


The sound of droplets

On open Maple palms,

Whispering of stories untold.

© M. G. Iannucci 2016

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