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If the angel of the library could speak
Or the page torn from the book
Carelessly, or on purpose
Or the little Gothic window in the reading room
Or the streetcorner, or autumn
Or the shiny horsechestnuts in their sputnik cases
Or the red maple leaf stars
Falling, as if from constellations
Or the Doric column standing sentinel
Or the Etruscan frieze along the edge
Or a warm bay full of dolphins
Or the word you will mispronounce in your head for years
Having never heard it spoken aloud
If the angel could speak
She would tell you only to hush and listen
To the words of the book
Which contain a house with a cupola
A child like you
Who is also eating an apple
And turning the page.
***
Looking
For fireflies--
No, it's the moon
Rising white
Behind the pine trees
***
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Rio:
A Journal of the Arts