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

3 thoughts on “Leafing Through Old Books

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