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Dave Bonta
I am translating a library into hands
is time a prison or a garden
are trees letters to the night
My friend! What brought us together?
Was it the love for each other’s presence?
Was it the comfort in each other’s being?
Was it the glow in our eyes and hearts?
Was it the joy, the warmth and mirth
Was it regard, respect, the reason
Or was it because we just felt at ease?
Was it just the way we were?
Weren’t there times when it came to an end,
Weren’t there moments when we flew apart?
Why to each other did we take
Why each did we value, more than others?
What made you my friend, my friend?
What was the chemistry, what was the fusion?
What, pray tell me you see in me
What made you say I am your friend?
Lest the spirit of wonder be lost
Go to the beach and behold the infinity of the sands,
Go to the library and consult the card catalogue and
behold the magnificent variety of books and periodicals.
Go to the Botanical Gardens and stare at the palm
trees.
Go to the aquarium and see the fish.
Go to work and behold the infinite nature of your tra-
vail.
Go to a cemetery and behold old tombstones.
You can't fool me, you have never lost the spirit of
wonder though perhaps I had and have now regained it from
you.
Stuffy smell of mouldering leather,
Tattered arm-chairs, creaking doors,
Books that slovenly elbow each other,
Sown with children's scrawls and long
Worn out by contact with generations:
Tattered tramps displaying yourselves--
"We, though you broke our backs, did not complain."
If I had my way,
I would take you out and bury you quickly,
Or give you to the clean fire.