The smell of libraries
is a kind of code
begging for translation
by opposing voices.
A lone reader shouts
into an uninhabited cave
along a post-apocalyptic
landscape.
There is no sustenance
in unmingled air,
no unclaimed civilization
grateful for rot.
Well-thumbed pages
are tongues of decomposing
trees licking at unfolding time.
They are lovers satisfied
through human touch.
Paper compounds convert
into almond and vanilla,
the way we liberate oxytocin
through embrace, or each other
through affirmation. It is here
that decay eclipses death
and we are freed.
–Art by Kaia Pieters
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