She is difficult to read.
The position of her eyebrows, her voice,
never too high or too low.
Turns her head as the pages shuffle,
shifting in the breeze.

She searches, tries to read him first
before he gets too close. She cracks open
his cover. Eyes scanning, studying his story.
Wind whips the pages, whispers, “This story’s not safe,”
But she keeps reading—it’s just to good to put down.