I read twenty to thirty books at a time,

piecemeal, like short visits

to important people

I wouldn’t want to bother

with my insignificance.

These days I’m stricken

with attention deficit disorder

beneath which flows

a stream of consciousness

confluenced to a sure mystery.

That’s where I

have come to rest at this age.

Stars find me whole, what I

myself could never see.

The great ones of great books

offer me glimpses of others

standing, gazing

into the same night sky.

4 thoughts on “Reading

  1. Exactly how I feel, Ive been reading Montaigne and its been like staring through his eyes at another time, but very much like being myself but extended, and i get feeling about the mystery of which you speak, actually the closer i get to death the more the urging and thought.

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