And Yet The Books

 And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.

“We are, ” they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters.
 So much more durable
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.

I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant,
Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.

Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...