A woman reading across the room,

and her soft arc of hmmm at words eliciting her song,

calls forth the bigger music of the library-

four blocks away, a sacred monolith of imagination.

“Libraries for All” declares a sign on the wall.

Yes, except for the drunks,

spoke a woman at the counter-

the police were just here.

I’m sure you see it all, I responded,

libraries are havens for the homeless.

Yes.

Warm. Dry. Open, lit, and cushioned.

Rest your weary bones. Pick up a book,

a newspaper, an image-heavy magazine.

This roof shelters whoever enters.

With or without the fortune or choice

of a place called home,

just best not to betray how many pints

are helping get you through the grey day.

Read on…