Sometimes I read a book and I’m looking for something.
I ask myself what it might be. Words.
Odd. We all have the same ones to pick from.
In this language anyway.
I tell myself not to do this, but rather to enjoy the writing.
Instead I secretly keep looking.
Scouting how some of the greats used their words.
What blend of complexity, or straightforwardness,
did they use. And where did they end
the sentence, or did they continue while fetching
another thought to dice into the world of wonderment.