a bird or two . . .

a friend of mine came to visit  . . . she wanted to take a look at my Matisse book
(hers had disappeared in the train she took from St. Brieux to St. Malo)  . . .
had she told anyone about her book disappearance? she called home and
Thomas who'd stayed behind said the book was on its shelf, quietly
enjoying being there squeezed between Monet and Chagall. . .
we had coffee together, reminisced about NYC , book publishing . . .
I prefer book -making to anything else in the world , she said. I still do
myself. . . it's time for me to salute my books, and the work that still waits for me
whenever it is time.