In the winter, we will go to the library and the stacks will feel like trees in a botanical garden.

Between the margins of common sense and 
no sense at all,  we will find sections labelled 
"periodicals," "perspective," and  "perpendicular people" and 
like children on grassy knoll drunk with 
the feeling of being far-from (the world of the ruling and the ruled), 
we delight in the taxonomy of our species, 
of the dexterous ways our hands grasp 
spine and thumb through body.

I peer over a page again and again until
the infinite stacks blur
in the background of this hand
which is warm and 
resembling a leaf.