There she is again, browsing,
Not bartering, bargaining, buying,
Just looking at book after book,
Reading, shuffling, pausing, sighing,
Always careful with the pages,
Each one a delicate leaf, precious
Container of someone else's words
But laced with parallels, feelings she knew
In her own life story, aches, urges, dreams,
And characters passing through.
She leaves the shop, looks around,
Thinking, deciding and opts to turn right.
Something she had read had guided her,
Had cracked her darkness with light.