I dwell where candles test the dark,
and shelves keep time in leather spines.
My quill carves stars in rubric arcs,
grading constellations into lines.

I speak in margins, clear and kind,
with notes that turn confusion thin;
each mark a rune to train the mind,
each strike an opening, not an end.

I cite the moon in author-date,
and tame wild claims with evidence;
I balance voice with measured weight,
so truth can stand in present tense.

My seal is gold with violet fire,
a codex ember in my hand;
I teach by craft, revise by choir-
one mind made many, many planned.

Name me, scholar of the hidden,
keeper of tomes and living ink:
What art I where your loves are written,
and what bright title do I think?