Look at those quiet books around
camouflaged in clothes of brown dust
crumbled into their own garments
blown into particles of aged winds
Look at those mute chapters untouched
eclipsed into dark corners beneath eyes
each in its orbit, yet seem motionless
cruising in black space, of lost memories
Look at those green words frozen
buried leaves in flakes of snow
silent cries for rays, of yellow balm
flowers on the arms broken, frigid
skin barren, in thirst of morning dew
Look at these eyes, weary of pages
sunk in aged nerves of these palms
Now, holding the world on my window
unfolded, to uncover books from dust
so left unseen
image: web.ncf.ca
