The Book Shop

It kindled my heart when I
touched the paper, the volumes
slim on the shelves, and the smell
of coffee - it brought back
words to the surface of my loch,
emerging from peat blackness
to rise as mist and cool my
face with the lightest dew -

it was memory that arose of
something precious I had to
lose to move on, pick up tools
and use them -

it was another place a distant
time, the languor the love
of rhythm and rhyme
beguiled me then, a haunting
tune carried softly on the
wind as it passed and
rippled the loch, gentle
lines spreading outward from
the silent core, speaking -

it was then I lost them
and now I remembered
this day I stepped-in
off the street
after work, tired, lost,
I stood and pined for the past.
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