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By John I. Blair

I live with books
Tall cases lined with them,
Long shelves beside the fireplace,
Stacks on tables, chairs.

I like the way they look,
The way they smell,
The way they feel
Between my hands.

Books have been my doors
Into the world,
My access to the ages,
Portals to the past.

I went public with
My love for them
Many, many years ago,
No shame, and no regrets.

And now that I am old I sit
Among my books for solace,
And fall asleep each night
With one upon my breast.

2014 John I. Blair

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