The Best Kind of Dyslexia

I blink my eyes, and the sentences jump,
again, and the ink changes color. 
I slam the book shut
and spill coffee all over it
and a new paragraph appears,
as if by magic. 
Like a treasure map in          tales,
                                     fairy
an invisible pen scratches in
new landmarks,

and time lets me

retrace the steps of the one-legged
knave, the scoundrel
who hid his heart's treasure
in a box between the lines
and glued into the binding.

-Citron