Strangers came into the apartment walked right to the bookshelf to spill beer on your book. Your book on a hook dangling off the roof attracted a white horse to the door. Your book emitted physical waves into the air, drying my hair. You climbed a tree to write your book where you wouldn't be seen. There was no tree there until you made it. The shimmering leaves seemed to be powered by light. The tree shuffled this light onto strings. The strings hung from the air. The printers sewed your book together with them.