Now that the proper instruments are arranged
his time of inscription nears.

He reads from the last page, backwards there
to find the beginning.

Whisking away the presumptions of page one
as mere suggestibility;

to read as the author reads is mission.
Why follow the staged footprints?

The book that neatly folds light between fine feathers
keeps out of sight what he wants,

headlong to reverse truth north, find relativity false  
to find the blazing word for "now."