The smell of old and ancient dust wafts up
from the yellowed pages of a dime store
book at the library’s front counter top,
and my mind, at that smell, hungers for more.
While turning pages to a steady beat,
I stare intensely at the faded ink
like it was a secret map to some hidden treat,
a portal to another world I think.
I will gather up these yellow, dying
paper-backs from these ten-cent back-room shelves
and after I have spent my time prying
through these great stories old and new, I’ll
delve
into
those backroom shelves again, it’s true,
but
this time my dear, this time I’ll go with you.
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