Three years ago a book I bought arrived,
assembled by some family and bound
in vibrant colors for the folks who strived
to show support, or loved the art they found,
that issued from the mind of someone downed
by injury to brain and drawing hand.
I laid that book down next to where I sit,
where it’s remained in place, a gadget stand,
until this morning. Recollecting it,
I shelved it in an area more fit.