Thunder storms throughout the house
leaving empty threats upon each pillow.
Willow thin, the librarian stood atop the stair,
casting her name into the darkness
like some unsheathed syllabic talisman
brandished in the air.
Thunder raged, followed lightning
whipping ragged ropes into the ground
in lashing jagged, whittle thin irradiance,
dispensing wicked shadow clones
upon whitewash mortar canvasses.
The librarian took measure with a breath,
hung his head, denied respite,
sighed resigned and retired.
Let the shadows play, he said
and put away his bellows.