I learn to read.
This paper is precious,
I dwell in my library of papers I daily glean.
This piece is unique
In all my walls of stacked treasure
Though each bit is dear.
The words, the creases are shaped and are stories
My hand can hold.
These esses and queues
Gracelessly brood cosmic secrets.
We are in a museum
Of jars and of cans and of containers.
We live in a storehouse of the story of the world.
The glass and the metal and the paper
Express the marriage of cultures
That changed their raw sources
Of disparate places and feelings
For chop suey dishes, ragout jars and pork and bean cans.
Each word is a vein of ore.
If I ever forget time
I will fold each scripture
Into one body's armature.
I will make a giant of papier mache
Now formless and only in my mind
Who will be a terrible bearer
And my cabinets of empty jars
And my stacks of takeout containers
And my chains of chewing gum wrappers
Will be bones and baggage and bridle and bit.
He will be my magic mount
Who will take me to the City of God
And drop me just this side of Wisdom's edge.