I hOPpEd

Like graciously jumping from lilypad to lilypad. Without a sink. Blink. I have hopped.

Bow and arrow. Again. Narrow gaps in between the ridges of it all. Ice cold metal. Fused into one. Dusk and dawn. Reflections and distance of a rising promise.

Earlier than usual and calm. Quiet.
Check the tick. No, not earlier. Simply darker.

Readers all around. 12 readers and nobody else. Lie. One writer. Most papers. A few books. Nearest- book. The kind with the silky thin pages. Rice paperish. With a tear, disintegration. They have a special sound, a smooth feel. Tiny writings. Not English. Separated by names and numbers. Edges are red.. like me today. Ribbon bookmark and finger spots for turning. For forgiveness. A tale of sorts. Longevity of belief. A tall tale? Not today's discussion.

He hasn't looked up once. Nor turned the page. Mesmerized. He looks with concentration. Chews with fury. Fuzzy like the politically incorrect childhood image of an Eskimo. Hair like a gray wire scrubber. Feet curled like a cat on carpet beneath his footies.

Glancing up: Silos. Stacks of smoke. Toothless blocks of flats. My favorite branches. Chimneys. Rooftops stretching all the way down. All the way over. All the way down.

He still reads..

I close my eyes and continue to hop. With joy.