Library afternoon

The dusty sun falls on the wooden table,

Time is sewn with the sound of turning pages.

The clock ticks in the distance—the soft river steps,

The words fill the chest and take the lessons of silence.

A thin breeze enters through the window,

The letters sway like sleeping leaves.

The warmth in the tea cup, the small map in the steam

Not the way back, but the address to stay.

I bookmark a minute of silence,

I count my breaths one, two, and sit down with my knees bent.

In the folds of a forgotten poem

I find myself loose, yet complete.

The city is roaring outside, the light sun inside,

The afternoon slowly folds like an envelope.

I write a small signature on the last line

Living while reading, winning today.