501

I think they want to be my friends, in there,

inside those pages, saved for all these years

to meet me here—to meet me anywhere

I have the chance to lend them both my ears.

It didn’t always feel that way. It oft-

-en felt like disapproval on each page.

But these are men who loved—whose hearts were soft-

-tened by the equal ills of their own age.

These teachers say, with eyes that, too, have wept,

what words they hope will comfort those who read.

I do not think they wanted to be kept

within the image of a heartless creed.

I think they want to be my friends. I think

they know despair—and how it tastes to drink.