Like feathered snowflakes gull flocks swirl

above white linden crowns, the frosted twigs

too insubstantial for their furrowed feet.

 

My back is warmed by books. A layered shield,

a page by page protection from edged wind

and beak-sharp stares of frigid passersby.

 

I hide my eyes with birds and trees. A child-

like thrill, invisible to strangers’ looks. I would

not wish my stride to still. I hasten home,

 

below closed covers unknown realms await. A wealth 

of far-flung grounds drawn near by foreign brains.

Human deprived yet profoundly humane,

 

more intimate than warm-blooded people

passed in the street on a walk. Let’s not talk.

Let us sit down here and read side by side. 

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