On sunny days on Bebelplatz,
the burning room reflects a soft blue sky,
as tourists gape to see an empty shelf.
Ghostly volumes, dimly glimpsed amidst the rush,
reflect faces of the curious, eager to be off
to find the next Big Thing.
One man, unawares, steps hard
on echoes of the burning leaves,
while far away, under an Appalachian sky,
a child peers up through burnished leaves
that dapple tales of her dark knights, never once
in her wildest dreams perceiving
that books may burn
or man may step on thoughts
or smoke may stain the soft blue thinker’s sky.