Beyond the door the moon holds

I find the fault between the final pages my fingers fold and all the secret words inscribed therein: belonging to the juncture that binds the ink to cloth, as well as each invisible rift my eye discloses passing from line to line, eliding every mark if not a story. Light's eversion joined to retention, only unopposed within the moment of the moon's eclipsing difference. Observe the letter O, as…