untitled poem by Bob MacKenzie On walking through the stacks of books in ordered rows, For seven days, no more, no less, to move some mind, Of thoughts in rows and racks awaiting those Exciting days of freedom from the aisle's shut blind, I stand and wonder waxlike whence my wicklife glows. Is there a shelf somewhere reserved for me I'll find All lined with rows and racks of lives come to a close And Dewey signed to fit a row, to fit a kind? This is shelf, is stacks - this loan of seven shadows Ends in sunlight past the bright and glowing pillage, Open books reflecting thought in golden billows; Glowing fire, this wick the wax will turn to Life's page. Loan oh a love like a bird on the wing which goes Soaring this library bearing the burning age. published: The Dalhousie Review Volume XV, Number 2, Spring 1974 |