a book, a book
we sold the books to leave.
we grieved.
more books, more books
we sold those books for a home,
retreated to rooms leaf-lined,
an evergreen existence,
we thought.
death arrived,
proved our dreams deciduous.
I gave our books to libraries then,
when I knew to pursue
a more navigable life,
but far away.
Now
I ask more books to stay, to share my solitude.
