Reading
As the words enter my eyes
This book does not register
As a vision of a truck tipped
Full of broken pottery
While the book falls
From my hand to the floor
It's pages are made of clay
Fired in my sleeping brain
Pick up these pieces
To start the flow of glue
That repairs the pages
Word by word they rise
Solemn they march
Once sharp broken bits
Show their scars to the audience
See the miracle they say
In a husky voice now charged
Retelling the story once lost
Almost tossed in a bin
For burial in a plastic tomb
By metal dinosaurs
Who won't read their story
Barry G. Wick
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