LIBRARY

The scene is as of the backrooms.
Faded yellow, grey-blue, old beige, peeling.
The carpet, once vibrant, has died.
Sheets of thin metal criss-cross the plane.

Shelves upon which the weight of the dead rests.
All that shouting, all that noise. Quiet now.
The weight of three thousand years or more.
The voice, captured; spirit logography.

Pick one; the soul bounces off. A second
has something, a ref'rence, a third, to
track and to find, and inside the third
shines the unutterable blazing light.