PRAISING THE BOOK PEOPLE

["the faint whisper of a turned page"
-Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451]

would you sell your heart's desire
would you chop it up for
firewood in the bitter cold

or throw it over the bridge
sparking futile distances,
to spare yourself?

how would you choose
sensing the end was near,
from all these things so rare:

what to pawn
what to carry on your back,
kind refugees of this beleaguered Word?

there is a library in the mind
where books like jewels shine
where we could surpass

the farthest runners to the edge of Light
leaning over the rim of its deep well
whenever a second universe appears.

not to betray this universe, but
to shield it from inquisitional fire
or the permafrost of
brutal disregard

we choose this role, even to be lost,
tearing out the blank pages of ourselves
inscribing them with ink that

can't be traced

in love with cherry-scaped language
we'll memorize it all
warned in dreams to depart

another way
bartering life for art
reading reading reading to

fuse the broken continents within
beauty and truth, once again,
our touchstone

through harsh midnights of sheer
inarticulation
we stand guard

refusing to stone the messengers
sheltering angels, unaware
weaving bright meaning
into our banished souls

as on the first day

mary angela douglas 13 october 2008