I see
What isn't there and what might be:
All the pages falling open

Out of my grasp
The future floods my fingers:
The blood that binds the bone
For us a given, unforgiving known
(All I've known unknowing)
Although I'm stumbling onward on the words
The script is always clasped
Within my hand, encrypted
(Now I see)

A loosening grip
A palm asweat from clenching...
The binding's ripped, leaves fluttering to the floor

The book slips through my fingers
All the pages falling open