Montague Bookmill – October 30


waters slide down

sloped moss-grown

falls where the

mill grew until

the market turned

and the village

folded into itself.


books are the churnings now

that feed

hungry souls who

come by for

a view and a

half caf in the

pub room.


scholar intensive minds

who grab the window

seat overlooks

gaze deeply only

into their laptops.


Emily Dickinson would

not have understood.


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