His Book Shelves

I climb the stairs
tip toe down the passage
into the silence of my father's music room.

The black upright Bechstein
stands rigid and dumb
as my eyes scan the titles,

so many,
but one reaches out
and catches my eye.

How strange, alien,
not of this world,
written by a god, no less.

Kon-Tiki.

Artwork & poem by Ashley    March 2024