An excess of books, the heft of words, tooth of paper thirsty for ink, each one has a spine and a message. Someone said yes, print it, and someone cut paper. Someone made a cover, like a door with no lock, a rectangle where words party or complain, lie or collude. I discard a book, be it friend or foe and buy or borrow more, not this one, not that--its heft. Turn a page for answers, for comfort, for laughter, for wisdom or kind words to tell me where I went wrong and shows me the way home.