"Vellichor"
I revel in the gloom:
Bright choosing to be dim
Light barely reaching shelves
Hiding pulp and leather
Those curiosities
of old man Father Time
Here I begin my search:
Step on the creaky floors
Sounding as if a guide
Let the lack of varnish
Move your once-trodden feet
among forgotten shelves
At first I’m overwhelmed:
Beseech you victimless
Man not overpowered
By such beauty in truth
By knowledge in beauty
for I’m beautifully lost
To the North I am drawn:
A dusty rising star
A multitude amongst
My soul is being called
My path is criss-crossing
from genre to genre
At last I reach my bliss:
A dark, lamplit corner
Walled off from the world by
A mountain of pages
Whose greatest power is
the art of forgetting
Amid this fantasy
I hear the creaking of wood
The whisper of the shelves
And our life’s intrusion:
“Where the hell have you been?
It’s been seven hours…”