On my desk lay eight books
is The first two each have a daisy tooled into, perhaps, soft deerskin, contain 5 foxed pages of paper, unused. Beside them this thin digest, full of mountain air, 48 pages from the fibers of the daphne,
from a women's cooperative in Nepal.
Three books,
all, leather,
paper plants and
tree, we,
girls, women,
are paired with
larger books,
histories.
Do these
comprise
lives, begin
to write us in
as
truth or fiction?
Or take
the making of
three more,
thread-bound,
blue.
These books
began
as
land,
as notes,
written
down
near a desert sea.
Yet they came to be
colored, again and again,
because the mind said
you must make
blue lakes
of them.
is The first two each have a daisy tooled into, perhaps, soft deerskin, contain 5 foxed pages of paper, unused. Beside them this thin digest, full of mountain air, 48 pages from the fibers of the daphne,
from a women's cooperative in Nepal.
Three books,
all, leather,
paper plants and
tree, we,
girls, women,
are paired with
larger books,
histories.
Do these
comprise
lives, begin
to write us in
as
truth or fiction?
Or take
the making of
three more,
thread-bound,
blue.
These books
began
as
land,
as notes,
written
down
near a desert sea.
Yet they came to be
colored, again and again,
because the mind said
you must make
blue lakes
of them.
