It is easy, almost a ritual to reach for the old volume
trembling through as the pages resist once again
unwilling to reveal the secrets she has conceived
in the last moment of her mysterious breath.
Timidly he will as is his custom attempt to peek
within the sheets of precious velum
putting what remains of his light on hold
terrified of the absence he may again confront.
Looking for a gentle sign, a signature, a greeting
perhaps the last hope of that lost contact
like so many times before attempting to touch
a word, a phrase, the journal of her passions.
But the pages are of the same virgin paleness
except for a new numbered chapter as the hours dim
successful again, she remains safe in her story
beyond the reach, in the den of a gentle kin.