library

Behind the glass I linger,
safe
from wet and wild and
wistful rain.
Nestled among books, I
wait
in a wooden world
of shelf and page.

The written word,
their fragile thoughts
would melt
away
at rain’s soft
touch.

I watch it, feel it
as I read,
and listen to
the widowed trees
welcome the sky’s sweet
offering.

So many treasures
locked inside,
but first to grow
and then to die.
My heart resounds,
“And so must I,”
reaches through glass
to trembling
life.