January 7, 1998 (I was 53)
Some words hide in books
that hide themselves on
less accessible shelves
in the darker parts of the
library
Some words arranged in
difficult combinations
seem never intended to find
their way out of the dark
Beads of nearly foreign dna
rosaries of dead religions
non-sequential twists of
syllables
Snakes of obscurity whose
lairs are unknown
to even the chronic habitue
of the stacks
and never once re-shelved
by the oldest librarian
(whose only hobby is to
make rice paper rubbings
from the tombstones of the
unknowns
on her visits to small town
cemeteries)
Risking the disrespect of
their dead authors
I speak of their existence
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