She hovered over my shoulder
She hung like a wintry breath
A warmth that reminds you
How cold it can get
And how much you fear your own death
She saw the girl turning the page
She read and then waited for more
She kept her eye trained on the next word in line
When she was alive she was never an age
I want her to read my chapter
I want her to have every noun
I see the shelves through her
I am enraptured
Thank god she was haunting that town
To me libraries are chapels
Whether on hills or dug deep in dales
And as that little girl flipped through our story
I'm glad the ghost is part of the tales
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.