From one book come many books
From one line come many lines
From one creaking floorboard
Come stories of many floorboards
Winds, rains, subsidence
Glory-boards of many stories
Dust, cobwebs, loss, passing
Stories skating over many glory-boards
Pull in the seat
Pull the seat in closer
Become nearer to the stories
Come, give lift off to your own glory
From that new house, almost completed
To that old house, in need of renovation
From that house of your friend
Or the relative who went to America
With the rubble, with the toil
With the stubble; who is to be the foil
I tell you my story, you tell me yours
We listen, with mindful listening
I do not tread on your story
You do not tread on mine
We nail down each other’s stories
Before we move on, to the disturbance of critique
