Library of Shadows

The library of shadows rests, lights extinguished and dust of silence.
Only when the rain tells the secrets of the sky, the volumes open.
The pages smell of rain and metal; they seem to breathe a copper key.
The letters tremble, and a liquid whisper invades the hall.
Inside, stories unfold like constellations on a wet table.
Each chapter points to a trajectory of clouds, every line a gentle thunder.
Who reads listens to the beat of the sky, less voice, more passing time.
And when the last drop falls silent, the library closes itself, awaiting the next rain.