An excess of books, the heft of words,
tooth of paper thirsty for ink,
each one has a spine and a message.
Someone said yes, print it,
and someone cut paper. Someone
made a cover, like a door with no lock,
a rectangle where words party or complain,
lie or collude. I discard a book,
be it friend or foe and buy or borrow more,
not this one, not that--its heft. Turn a page
for answers, for comfort, for laughter,
for wisdom or kind words to tell me
where I went wrong and shows me the way home.