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To Suzanne Ryan's previous piece

In Between the Pages

Taking a book from off my shelf and turning it over in my hands
I tried to remember its origins…
Not bought – I'd remember.
Too well worn to have been given or received.
A forgotten library book – or borrowed from a friend?
Then the little ticket stub fell out
And fluttered to the ground like a broken bird's wing
Cairo to Athens to Crete
And only this reluctant bookmark to remind me
You once circled the globe
In hunt of me;
Your torn ticket stub, a late dart,
A precious arrow led astray.
And now I wonder
What ticket stubs are tucked into the pages of your books;
Where they take you,
And into whose arms you fly.