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The Literary Lion

We wander into an old
bookstore: into a palace
of pages, this tomb of tomes — 
and there we drink tea
surreptitiously stealing
words. Feeling the guilt
of my theft and to make
amends I procure
a lean chapbook of poems.
Baptized into the bright
light flooding through
streaked window pane
I find myself crying
out with Isaiah over
prison cells, saying
Kiddush for a day old
child, wandering empty
down the streets of old
Manhattan: an immigrant friend
of homeless children.

-© Darryl Willis, in Lyrical Poetry E-zine, 2010

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