Kindling

The pages whisper and rustle,

sharing the dreams of dead kings, the mutterings of philosophers, the fancies of writers.

The smell of the books evoke living history, crackling manuscripts.

The marks on the smooth, creamy whiteness, from your brain to mine,

across time and space.

Transitioning now to pixels and glass; the loss of sensory pleasure.

The whispering rustle is lost, the smell is faded.

In my mind now only: the dreams, the mutterings and the fancies.

The marks on the smooth, glassy whiteness, from your brain to mine,

across time and space.

An entire library edifice,

marble colonnades, towering shelves, a tribute to thought.

Captured now in the palm of my hand;

speed of light, from your brain to mine,

across time and space.