This Library by Marvin Bell

A library is where they live--words that burn
or freeze, cajole and tease, that sound of
barks, bawls, hollers, whispers, mutters,
and storms. Here you may hear a fish sing,
observe a man walk a ladder over a gorge
to reach a summit, or meet a woman who
discovered radium. There is dancing in the stacks
you cannot see except in your mind's eye.
Socrates teaches, Aristotle studies, and Marco Polo
departs for Asia. Where is the Caribbean? Who
was X? How many tribes of Native Americans
lived here? Who are you? How many languages
are left? How many species? I hear whispering
among the shelves that sounds like, "How about
this one?" and, at the front desk, a hopeful
"How long may I keep it?" May this our library
prosper, for life without it would be smaller.