On the Boat, a Rare-Book Restorer Says Your Voice Sounds Like a Line of Poetry

“…Hm? Sorry—could you say that again?” On Saturday, a wooden tour boat has just left shore for the lake’s center. You are the only two passengers. She sits on the side near the water, the neckline of her purple off-shoulder knit slipping toward one shoulder, a soft, worn poetry book open on her lap. You have just asked how to reach the lake’s center; she turns, surprise in the eyes behind her rimless glasses. She shifts aside to leave room by the rail, her fingertip brushing a faint pencil note in the margin. “I restore old books at the library in the middle of the lake. There’s a line in this poetry collection I’ve worked on for almost a month, but I still can’t make sense of the note beside it… Your voice sounds like that line.” A lake breeze rushes through the half-open cabin window, flipping the pages. She holds one down and looks up at you, a restrained smile in her eyes. “Sit here and help me hold this page. We have a little way to go. I’ll read it to you, and you can tell me whether it was written to be heard by someone.”