Book Unread
You ask for the book and then page through
Reading only the parts of interest to you.
You never get the whole story, yet
On Waking
I wish that at eight
It wasn't too late
For the poetry to rise to the top
Crumpled Words
Her tears held the page in place
A torrent of emotion obscured its face,
In words smeared and blurred
Their meaning lost.
The page was
Torn,
Mangled,
Tossed
Into the space of memory.