the façade was impossibly ornate
The façade was impossibly ornate
Senseless contrast with the dust and debris of the road
He entered in spite of it
And forgot with the steward’s gesture in
Anyhow, that’s where he was going
The halls were dark wood
glistened to blurry mirrors
And at a glance the two became glowing rings in their reflection
like tigers submerged in pools beneath the caves of Delphi
they strode through the halls
the steward in the manner of habit worn until fitting
he as a sharp foil of flitting eyes that ate the ornamented rooms as they walked
Everything was like it was but seemed like something otherwise
Only the other way about
he felt he might’ve anticipated
they walked deliberately
But arrived quickly
affronting his curious wings
She gestured through a door saying
It is a thing of value more than the entirety of this building
More than my life or yours
More than the expanses sight- wrapped from any tower
Save only it remains just as it is
Intact
Without addition or mark
Or the loss of fleck
With that the doors swung slowly into an echoing close
And the room was in his hands
All dark save a pedestal illuminated in a stroke of light
It was the least obvious thing he had ever seen
there sat a thing in the shape of a book
a tome after some reflection
Bound in three ancient loops of twine
And a cover fashioned from the bark of an unseen birch
Thin, so thin he could see through the colors
As they bled off the glowing pages
Each made of pressed leaves and flowers
Older than a hundred grandma’s
And lighter than their drifting skin
He did not move
just the hint glimpse edges filled him with wondrous spirits
and he saw the book for what it was
it was as if all the nuance of the world was shocked at once
into a catalog of crystalline vision
the boy noticed no hint of time
in the presence of the volume
and knowing nothing of it
rested there looking as if
breath might make it break to dust
and at once a world filled the boy
no a million worlds!
and he knew the pages were the stitching of the worlds
and he knew that each was a passage and an end
and there were ends without ends
and he had no words or thoughts
in the resonating silence
he moved as if he was moved
and was as if he was
and he reached out into the floating space between the light and the dark
The steward’s footsteps made marks upon the air
The light of many rooms crossed along their lines
Such that one could not tell distances between them
Or the directions they had gone or going
In some places the floors were the same as the ceiling
In others was the same reversed
but taking notice, one could always tell if they were standing
only the steward could go though she couldn’t say what way
she was returning again
though so often done one could hardly have noticed
she rapped the door and slowly swung it open