I may as well be invisible
in this library of ghosts
only the manager sees me
tells me I am early
motions to the chairs
by sunlit windows
where flowers bloom
my shadow cast
long against the dusty floor
it, the only other notice
of my presence…
conversations collide
around me
old friends embrace
offer bouquets of smiles
brush past without excuse
so I step back,
meditate on book spines
pretend they are company enough
until the show begins
and I listen to stories
and laughter
my chair rocking slow —
I bet they think its haunted.
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