The book opens into infinite space,
myriad folios flutter --
parallel universes we inhabit
one person at a time.

Pages read forward and backward,
upward and downward --
no directions reliable,
no compass or rule.

Imagination stretches its
elasticized muscle --
to encompass any object:
Doric pillars on the sea.

The sea swallows itself,
book spines cover dry land --
tread on them lightly to
choose a way forward,

to reach a conclusion,
existential noir --
whodunits lead to a map
of the stars, pulsing

in invisible night ink.