3.3.1

As the books multiplied I saw your bright form bent over the table, and watched as your slender fingers braided the pages, and my thoughts began to drift into the wider Universe as I read, as if they were light or breath. I sounded my thoughts out in my mouth and sighed them to you, and you made them into an image on the page, and left space between where you could slip in. But when I wanted to sew it closed, it would not stay bound, and the pages scattered with the gusts of the Universe’s breath. I came to understand by these sensations that entering the book was also exiting it.
 
 
 

← book

3.3.2

The form of the content on the page threaded meaning through the holes in the form of my body, and scarcely containing myself and restraining the other from opening the book in their hands and seeing what was in it, I put my hand together with yours so that we would not open the book, and you bound them with a manacle, a cuff called reason, consisting of a divided metal ring which is locked around the wrists. And the shackle protected us from what was within the closed book and so we called it sacred. And I could not tell the inside from the outside, and could not see the third.

3.3.3

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