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!"