The black letters of the book
in every corner, every nook,
so devoid of life,
so full of life -
the impetuosity of an ambushing defector,
the laggard wisdom of a conscientious objector,
the wisdom that hitch-hikes on time,
in the deep fold of that wrinkle,
the silence of the shadows,
the commotion of the fringes,
the rumblings of death,
the shallowness of each passing breath -
so full of life,
so devoid of life -
in every corner, every nook,
the empty continuum of colourlessness,
holds together,
the black letters of the book.
