in his big hands dad held
books like flowers on his lap
reverently turning pages
with fingers torn and swollen
from decades of labor
i build walls with my books
shelves surround the room
like sentinels at each corner
protecting me from the onslaught
ezra disappears into stories like rabbits
into a warren, resurfacing
with delighted giggles or
stunning insights on
the darkness he discovered
beneath the words
each of us finding ourselves in the pages of the book
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