The Lost Language of Wrong Decisions
I
She tells weather by placing her palm
on morning window pane
and
by mapping the flecks of light
in his eyes
II
He found her behind a Secret Door
to a hidden library
he likes to say
he took her down from a shelf
and opened her
but in truth
she was decoding
the mysteries of the Voynich
when he caught her eye
in the amber light
III
She keeps ancient wisdom
in her fingertips
heals blood of centuries
with her eyes
Never
had been so thoroughly
read catalogued parsed
gently conserved and restored
in all her lifetimes
She yielded
to this greater light
IV
They decrypted each other.
He so long unopened.
She so oft misinterpreted.
They concocted each other's potions;
Illuminated each other’s manuscripts.
V
Joy overwhelmed him
Radiance shone him
Magnificence walked with him
He could not believe his good fortune
In fact he did not believe in good fortune
Happiness was a luxury
not afforded to scholars
dreamers lovers
He closed her
put her back on the shelf
he fancied he’d found her
pulled her card from the catalogue
tucked it in his pocket.
VI
She had always loathed the spooky stacks
Now she found herself embarrassingly
mis-shelved crammed
between La Morte
D’Arthur and One-thousand and One
Arabian Nights
For a long time
she waited
tried to sleep
sleep wouldn’t come
amid the incessant chatter
of her neighbors
she began to realize
she was dead
another volume lost
to the fires at Alexandria
VII
Now that she was carefully archived
he turned himself down
until he emanated no light at all
but began to suck it from the ones
who never thought much of him anyway
He would go on like this
For as long as
Life is not a mystery
it is science – biochemical processes-
social Darwinism
and filled with misery
as it should be
always has been
He had understood.
VIII
Fingertips probed a thin volume
sandwiched on a shelf
with a tug it came loose
its salt-stained pages
fanning fireflies of knowledge
into the musty expanse.
8/30
NaPoWriMo
2014
Prompt for Day 9: Things I've Never Worn
