63/365

i’ve left small pieces of myself
across time in every book
on my book self
in the guise of folded pages,
circles and stars and exclamation points,
highlighted words, lines, and passages,
like a trail of bread crumbs
into the forest
of my past, present and future—
waiting for the day
your adamantine curiosoty
coupled with my counsel
leads us both to a place
that feels familiar.
i bequeath you
these texts
weather worn
and well traveled.
out beyond ideas
of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field.
i’ll meet you there.