the library of one
where green leaves shuttled through.
pink clouds.
the shelves reach to starlight
out of sight when all inspectors come.
rose-leaved, the pages turn as
though in a garden-
cinematic to a fault.
and dreamy.
softly the archangels quench all interruption.
for the library of one
who went to work
on the meanest bus
and worked for churls
typing up their manuscripts.
mary angela douglas 4 february 2015
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