He opened the book to a page he had marked with a napkin and handed it to me. I was stunned. It read, Breath, comes to me in bursts of joy. Stones retched out bloody worms, worn red with the passing of licking patterns of salt. Why signal wu8&xxKJOPOlns;kkk; I’d never read anything of such profound clarity in the library before. Tears rolled down my face, and I looked up at him in gratitude. “Wonderful isn’t it?” he said. “It’s two sentences that are grammatically correct! They make sense. This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. It’s poetry.” I was wild with joy. I hugged the book and
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