Fingering crisp pages lined with fine salt,
The residual of warm ocean air and contemplation,
I look at the sketches drawn in my margins,
Of seashells and conclusions,
Each passage cradling sacred meaning.
The leather-cracked cover worn at the edges,
Feels rich with warmth burnished by hands.
Oils from touch layer on pages,
As time and trial repeatedly evidence
The enduring strength of powerful words.
Thoughts of true friends turn into my own,
Those both present and epochs before.
I read between lines, and write alongside them,
As similar feelings
Leave markings inside my book.
The sharpest impressions that prick my heart
Stitch it together when housed within.
The needle that sews inside my compass
Reveals true north,
Scripture expressed, through choice and action.
Firm in my grip I clench a rare pearl
Protected by pages and salt that I savor.
So close to my heart, I’m willing to give
My most prized possession.
A book. A prophet. My friend.