To Sergei Parajanov

Praise to the monks who make our books
Shaping and illustrating
Lifting up the contents for adoration
And worship

Praise to the monks who spread their spines into the open air
Pressing into the hands of the young
Rustling of pages in the wind
And mind

Praise to the monks who venture forth with texts too heavy
Stacking them for the blessing
Squeezing juice out of each volume
And fruit