This book is an indefinite article. It is a sigh before a wonder that overly encompasses it...
In its last recourse as a tome of poetry, its few words remain open to the spaces that it did not travel, and indicate the very life that is around us, which are among these other things.
If you would think of yourself as having to do with being paper, more so than with being the decorative ink, it points to this kind of receptivity.