And there is bark
beneath your fingers. 
Readable, the way Braille
is readable -
as long as you have a mirrored codex
living under your skin.

And in a forest,
with book upon book,
a formed library,
perhaps cathedral - 
in various states
of growth and decay.

They are one thing,
they are another,
mirrored growth and decay.

Books slipping off of branches,
off shelves - slipping under
eager fingers,
claws and bodies,
from one skin
to another.

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