THE MAN WHO WALKS BOOKS
He was a Donall
just like me
but preferred to be
known as D or Dee.
In Cuba he...
"The Man who walked Books!"
The sun shining on
his bald pate
as he strode along
head stuck in a book
his legs having to do
all the seeing.
He breathing in the words
they staining his mind.
An emotional osmosis.
On dusty white roads
halfway 'round a bend
he always "...the man
who walked books."
Your death both
shock and surprise
it seeming so absurd
a D could die.
You always so
alive.
Death filters back
just the basic facts
without too much
how or why.
Tears the only
words I have.
Keeping you forever
in my mind
you can only
always be
a dusty dot
now a dusty nearness
"The man who walks books!"