My Uncle's Library

My Uncle's Library

Yesterday, I worshipped a book.
Kneeling with weak knees, my eyes interpreted
unread words, speaking as the weight
in my hands. How can I
not open the one who told me to read again and again?
After one sentence, I knew what to say.
In the crevice, I carefully slid it back,
still kneeling, knowing I would be here, again.