by Matthew Kenneth Kosak
..He imagined the book filled of papyrus,
the English turned to ancient writings now foreign to him,
scratchings, cuneiforms. What then?
Words are dreams and dreams become time,
Flavors of it,
like sunsets and her walking in the morning
barefoot through grass. The distilled product of the manuscript
that fills volumes of space seems merely a fraction of it,
though a complete dream, uttered in a chorus
spoken by different voices that differentiates its
substance into states, and dimensions,
is more ancient architecture.