How Things Are Before Books Were(Yours For The Asking) Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Lost
without a book

I journey
homeward

nonchalantly
reading the sky

translated into sunset

the poem
of a flock of crows

leaving one tree for another
(very similar)

& then back again
in another

second

raindrops
like sonnets

reciting themselves
over and over

with passion &
great conviction

writing themselves
on my reflection

as the window
holds me captive


& I learn
their literature

the language of

how things are
before books were.

I tell these things
to my self

as I fall asleep...fall asleep...fall asleep.

Dream...dream.