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Who was more startled, the old cat or myself?
We both awoke as the door chimes let me in.
I am escaping rain. The cat, jaw on paws
Too tired to yawn, glared.

Fabulous used bookstore. Truly serendipitous.
Look at how this Daniel Deronda yields itself.
Falling open, and staying there. Inviting.
Taking nothing, it shared.

That frontispiece, oh sacred title page.
I read, To Christine, Merry Christmas, 1983.
I know at once, a non-smoker, not Jewish.
Perhaps twenty when I was.

I buy the book, this talisman. What do I know?
Tired of George Eliot. Rhymes with “pristine.”
The rain has stopped, so I leave with her.
A green eye winks, jaw on paws.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2008