DETROIT / BOOK REPOSITORY
By Celia Gilbert
Sunlight frowning on the piles,
an idle wind leafs
rank with mold
foxed and lichened with silence:
apparel of the mind
no longer in fashion.
Word heaps ready for the shovel
no kitchen midden can protect you,
you, not glass, born of sand and fire,
you, not steel or iron forged
pulp, once ready to
take the press and stamp of thought,
now only soft breathing sun absorbing,
prairie winds . . .
ghosts and ghost towns
abandoned mines of mind . . .
phantom readers crowd in,
here they sit
outwards from their lives.
Copyright © 2015 by Celia Gilbert.