i always think that about dad now as i did when he was alive he might be willing to try.

i'm reading kate zambreno wondering what book dad would be reading if he was alive. not this one i think but if i handed it to him. he might be willing to try. that's what i thought sometimes when he was alive. i gave him cloudsplitter after i raced to read it first; there were sap drops from the pine trees above the cabin by mirror pond on the pages he may have noted without comment graciously or did he read the book at all? we never had a deep discussion but it felt deep. precipitous. 
i was thinking how haunting it sometimes is that there will be so many books we will never read and it will never stop there'll be many so many more after we die. i see myself buried in books but not literally for other people strangers perhaps will be reading them. i'll be buried in clouds and i won't be jealous of the books unread. like this post everything will be read by someone.