Not Illegal in Mississippi

Your letter is not illegal in Mississippi,
no crime to write a letter in this library
dusted with your personal sachet,
to linger until closing, drowsy and alone.

Forgive my unasked calculations,
the library so quiet, the green lamps
lighting shadows in the ceiling rafters
and stacks of unread books, hesitation
sprawls like a yellow cat;

hunger grows to share your letter,
the letter where you stretch and yawn,
where your eyes lower for someone
not called by my name;

I would share your table, your paper
and the outer shell of your recondite life.
I would be a starched sailor dropping
by rope from the rigging to your bench,
a man who wears red, jewelry at his neck,
eyes the color of seaweed;

just then, you pause to touch your pen
against your tongue, like the children
who pointed their brushes painting radium
numbers on glowing watch faces;

I shall never again hurry past any notice
that says my letter was sealed with a kiss,
or glance at my watch without a pause
for the children who grew a cherry pit
on their tongue, never to become older
and sit writing a love letter in the library.

Bernard Henrie