Among twenty romance stacks
The only moving thing
Was the hand of the librarian

I was of three minds
Like a Shakespeare play
In which there are three lovers

The librarian’s hair
Whirled in the autumn wind
It was part of a very sad story

A man and a woman
Are no longer one
A man and a woman
And a book are 
No longer one

I don’t know which to prefer
Seeing the librarian at her desk
Or seeing her in my dreams

The library was closing early
Due to the blizzard
In the empty room the librarian knelt 
To shelve a book someone had left
On the floor

The mandolin player stood in the snow
Hoping to catch sight of the librarian
A fear pierced him 
like a lovely air
When she appeared 
Walking through the park

Oh unhoused humans
Of Glens Falls,
Why do you dream of mind- 
altering drugs?
Do you not see the face of the 
Librarian in the window above?

I’ve read beautiful lines from
Joyce and Shakespeare and Basho
I know the librarian is
Involved in what I read

The librarian walked by with something on her mind
She walked as if floating through a field of flowers

I struggled to keep from crying out
When the librarian suggested a
Book for me to read –
The Art of Courtly Love

Often I sit reading poems
With the librarian’s voice
Moving through my mind

It was snowing and
It was going to snow
The Librarian sat by the window
Watching the storm