Turning to pages that have been read

Answers are sought, for questions that aren’t dead

The more ancient a page, greater seems its veracity

The writing changes with the mind’s increasing opacity

The page of the moment is transparent

Yet to be bound and made permanent

Whatever’s written remains invisible

For those who read emptiness, it is sensible

Each moment that’s lost adds a page

That gets thicker with age

We’re surprised at how much is there to read

None of it foretold when we were a seed

There’s a bookmark, in every past

It takes us to the page of contrast

Between now and then, then and hence

Burn that page, and the moment is no more a pretense