Spine by spine
a finger trail meandering
down bookcase alley
each stiff lettered bone
a grave of good words.
The tomes are piled
top to bottom so necks
don’t get twisted and disordered.
No system but time & treasure—
each word, every letter
a barrier against order
to be individually regarded.
My eyes
an automatic detective
my grasp
a trembled reach
my need
an addict’s escape.