The Librarian
I know the spine of every book
they hold scattered strands of knowledge
sleeping in the dark of alphabetical order
For love, a whole shelf
arranged by degree of wear
they stand leaning into one another
the most battered has no title
page corners folded and smoothed again
sealing hesitation and misreading
In the corner of world history
no annotations
strings of numbers
handed out as clues
a chronological index of human affairs
stamped with due dates
stacked in layers
like a rolling ladder toward the heights
Until footsteps fade, the floor grows pale
I pass through the empty atrium
paper structures
receding into silence
as the lights go out, the lock clicks—
a shadow stretched without end
folds into a dream
with no shelves
图书馆管理员
我认识每一本书的背脊
它们收藏了每一支离散的知识
沉睡在字母顺序的黑暗里
关于爱，有整整一排
按照磨损程度
它们彼此依靠伫立
最破的那本，没有书名
折起又抚平的页脚
封印了迟疑与误解
世界史的角落
没有批注
一串串编号
是我分发的线索
人间大事的编年索引
被戳上归还日期
层叠的排列
如同去往高处的书梯
直到脚步消散，地板泛白
我穿过无人的中庭
纸质的建筑群
在寂静中后退
于是关灯，落锁——
无限拉长的影子
折叠进一个
没有书架的梦