Library

No, I shall not; I’ve had enough
Of libraries as mute as moons,
Of limpid autumn afternoons
For sharing books and quotes and fluff.
One whole season I’ve been lost
In the hallways of your voice,
In the fall days, in the choice
Of page for leaf, until their cost
Became my speech: my words went dry...
No: love, from now, will bear a face
As golden as the quiet rye
That grows in fields where sounds lose trace.
I want to pull a thread of sky
And walk upon it to that place.