The Library

I wandered in books
and little nooks. 
Books weaved layers
worlds weaved books. 

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Wandering was like wondering
why in the world of words
was wording like weaving
and weaving like words...
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The stringing of thread, 
the stringing of word;
the ringing of rug,
in my grandmother’s ward.

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Where thoughts were woven 
before they were spoke;
and woven was spoken
before it was wrote. 

I like to touch words
and read thread;
weave worlds
inside my head.

A velvet song
on a barren boat;
A dancing scarf
in air afloat. 

Jasmines wove
into skies;
Whispering scents
to blue butterflies.

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Whose wings open
to form a page;
worlds of wonder
for a wandering sage. 

Wandering was like wondering
why in the world of words
was wording like weaving
and weaving like words…

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