There’s something in the silence of books
As if the words whisper their way
From pages sealed in paper
To the wall of ages past.
There’s something in the way the sun shines down
As if the books are spreading stars in dust
The sound of them
Flying as soft as night.
There’s something in the scent of books
Of paper, glue and mystery
It tingles on the tongue
That taste of secrets.
Fingers look and touch
And wipe away the dust. Page opens wide…
In a bookstore means
I simply must buy more.