hearts

Librarians follow the cracks
in the walls, gaps in the
restroom water, long aisles and
air ducts,
hair and aspirin under decrepit
chairs, drab spirits of the
lost generation almost
sacrificed to Tezcatlipoca
or the grasshopper
goddess of the Anasazi.
Memory is an abstraction,
children smell the pages and
can do everything afterwards,
everything while the void
shines in their hearts.

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