Walking Home From the Library 
by Pax Morrigan

 

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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