Retention

An early morning,
In a book library, I was standing in front of an old wooden shelf.
There was a dusky book with a red raw flap;
The cover tended inward through wrinkles.From the east window,
the summer sun crushed;
The dust over it gets shimmery and twinkles.
I touched it once
and my fingers have kept their print on the deep instance.
I opened up the book,
on the white, weighty page, a fountain has chased out a name
with some beautiful words to keep it special to the seer,
I got through for a long time.
A live, visible bunch of feelings filled up with each line,
shaped like a leaf that feels for the tree at its end.
My mind became turbulent as a fog of winter snow fell over me and
I hid myself in the book like a lost bookmark.
Seems likeI spelled, revived and one more time; dreamed.