It’s Readering

Image by VintageBlue from Pixabay.

Mine eyes behold
the glory of
the printing of
the word. They have

read in many
pages how the
pulp of trees is
stored. Ink has loosed

a quiet light
and an S to
make a sword
so truth can write

its song. Glory
glory halle
luja glory
glory halle…


this poem cannot
itself contain.
Day weekend.

Books. Soldiers. Wars.
Strange gratitude.
It’s readering
that births answers.