A Trip Back Home (sort of)
Around the corner there is a library full of centuries of words hanging onto the shelves. Winter encyclopedias, dark maroon, almost leather, indexed and waiting, full of photographs. Color photos carefully selected, positioned just exactly on the page, heart and soul of a thing. Maps, Charts, Physics in a nutshell, Rome in a fraction of an inch. Me in my blue coat feeling like a leftover good-will bargain table, crumpled up and left for last. Watch your posture, young lady. The lady says she likes the hat I choose from the second hand bin. Maybe it will have time for a second coming. I do not select a book right off, it is a sacred act all right. Maybe just a small one, maybe I can taste little bit sunny spring carrying a spirit into my upper chest--After all, they say the sap is just below the surface, sticky with life, rich, waiting-- A book! bound with dewy decimals holding its place. The light is on now in this magic space. Oiled wood, ...