Finding a Bible in an Abandoned Cabin

Under dust plush as a moth’s wing,   
the book’s leather cover still darkly shone,   
and everywhere else but this spot was sodden   
beneath the roof’s unraveling shingles.   
There was that back-of-the-neck lick of chill   
and then, from my index finger, the book   

opened like a blasted bird.   In its box   
of familiar and miraculous inks,   
a construction of filaments and dust,   
thoroughfares of worms, and a silage   
of silverfish husks:   in the autumn light,   
eight hundred pages of perfect wordless lace.

Poem copyright ©2007 by Robert Wrigley, whose most recent book of poetry is “Earthly Meditations: New and Selected Poems,” Penguin, 2006. Poem reprinted from “The Hudson Review,” Vol. LIX, no. 4, Winter, 2007, by permission of Robert Wrigley.
Source: 2007
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