By now, the books have almost filled their shelves
Like some slow love affair reaching its end,
When little space is left for richer selves,
And all have spent the last cent they can spend.
The volumes lined in perfect rows await
A book or two. Then they will be complete,
Standing for hard-won knowledge taken straight
And upright, serving wisdom bound and neat.
Till then, they lean on one another, covers
Touching as they inch on toward the finish.
Who would ever think of books as lovers?
Day by day, the spaces left diminish.