You have passed me; as a ship
in search of its harbor
or as the wind turning my encyclopedia
pages from sage into sinner.
I know of your dreams, how you age
in the absence of verse:
I sense what you lack.
You have seen me between shelves
in the shadows of books,
and you know
that I keep all the answers,
to questions you never will find.
You know me as dust in the crypt
where words are kept hidden,
as fire, as sea,
as scent of the soil and the sound
of an apple-bud bursting in spring.
You know me as him,
who keep our library wild.
For the last prompt at toads we have a selection of old prompts to revisit, and I started by writing to Kerry’s prompt on Poetic Voice, and for once I thought I would let my aged librarian to talk for himself.
December 30, 2019