A Book Called The Soul

There is a quality
of words on a written page,
the most banal attains importance,
just by the act of writing,
the smallest and dullest of moments
is given meaning.
Maybe that’s why we enter our births in official records,
why we chisel the names of our dead in forever granite.

Is this an attempt to give our lives an importance
and permanence?

There is no need, rest assured,
for are we not walking products of God’s word?

Are we not,
each of us,
a word in God’s great book?

Are we not,
each of us,
more than word, more than sentence or paragraph,
but in fact
a grand and epic novel?

Each of us have stories that center to the core of our bodies as rings in a tree,
heroes in tragedy and in comedy,
breathing shouts and sighs and sleeps…

Don’t we see the stories in each other’s eyes
a book

called
the soul?