Shelf Dreams

I

shall die

but before

that day, I hope

to create something

good enough to stay, wait

for that other child of ten

dropped at the local library

branch while Mom runs Saturday errands

left to wander the stacks, smitten with words

their magical powers to connect

in spite of time, living and dead

whose wisdom waits here in rows

paper gravestones from which

the departed rise

cheating death as

the child cracks

a spine

reads.