i saw the book left on the table. forgetting i let you borrow it a year ago, it was strange to see it. it looked skinny-unread. but maybe that was just the feeling in the room, the corners where cornered, bent, just how fingers like to do it-so it could have been the room. also, the book reminded me of this movie i saw a few months ago. the placement of the book reminded me of how ambiguous the movie was. there was a man. a teacher, of sorts. he taut people how to bake bread in an hour; and in a day, find god. he preached of patience in a robe, thumbing a mini-staff, and talking over heads-and they went there just to not understand. to understand just enough. the current mystery assistant assisting current mysteries for them. under his breath and underneath their robes, when the cameras are turned off. and no one could remember if there was salt in the dough, when i noticed his miser curls. his marine tongue giving over to the forged, nonpareil sickness boiled in his gut; thickened with greed. his scolds, lost in the ears of the half listening daydreamers giving themselves to him. but i liked the book, and the movie too; but separately. and i wanted to say, "thank you," for returning the book.