Your Stylus to Us

To read by the light of burning books,
To read by the burning light, to read
By the light, to read—how various,

Really, are these experiences?
To not read, to listen to a voice
Reading the book aloud for others,

Perhaps in person, more probably
In a recording with adjustable
Speed. To hear someone, a whale, singing.

You’re not just chauvinists in claiming
True language all yours, but in thinking
Whatever resembles your language

Must be a kind of language also.
The libraries are always burning.
The species are always signaling.

Honestly, you all have in common
More overlapping world as living
Beings than deposited signals

Have with any of you. We’re burning,
But we’re not consuming or wasting.
We have in common mere existence.