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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