How Things Are Before Books Were(Yours For The Asking)

Lost without a book I journey homeward nonchalantly reading the sky translated into sunset the poem of a flock of crows leaving one tree for another (very similar) & then back again in another second raindrops like sonnets reciting themselves over and over with passion & great conviction writing themselves on my reflection as the window holds me captive & I learn their literature the language of how things are before books were. I tell these things to my self as I fall asleep...fall asleep...fall asleep. Dream...dream.