I Begin in Scrolls
This is an old story. Once in a time
long past I unfurled my little page.
No one knew I could move. Light
hushed in wind and shadow. I wrote
the book of ocean tides, the book
of ancient moon. Time was time.
In the morning hour, I searched
for the sun to cast a spell when it
was still of help to wish for a thing.
There was and there was not. I made
the sound of paper. A seed travels
through time and books are made
from leaves. I was painted as water
was being strewn and sand was being
poured. Art is based on plant life.
Bran here, flour there. Faithful
representation, though, is rarely
the point of form. Return my story.
Feed me bread and water. I folded
up in darkness. A bell rang in time
and I opened to the world. Red,
redder, this tale is over. This book
comes to an end, but the story yet
remains. Scrolls have relentless power.
I’ve told you what is coming.
about the author