Old Books

by Dan Gerber

My life’s companions, showing their age —
spines peeled back, bindings frayed — stacks

of brittle leaves, kept with tape and rubber bands,
though what they’ve said and have to say still

renews the world behind my eyes,
and in a cloud that shadows me

with lightning, music, consolation —
sometimes peace and pure

delight in a darkness,
through which Sappho, Hui Neng,

or the night’s soft wind bring
fuel to a lamp that flickers

and fades, and flickers,
and glows.