The Library's Quiet

THE LIBRARY'S QUIET

I

The library's quiet,
and the window behind me rumbles with the wind.
We are all, at our separate tables, alone:
isolated, engrossed, perhaps chained.
And the whole room is afloat in a timeless reach,
somewhere vaguely above the earth
and none of us knows where we'll be
when the time is up, and we step outside,
and blink at the sun and the strangeness.

II

Water is gurgling in the radiator, occasionally someone
turns a few pages, shifts positions, or coughs.
A newcomer arrives, settles herself with a book
on the brown and orange couch,
to let herself drift for awhile
with the rest of us solitaries
in this half-real placeless place.

III

I wonder if we're above the trees.
I see branches through the windows there.
Too bad the floor’s not glass,
so you could see whether this is where you want to get off.

IV

There's a woman at the desk by the door, reading too.
She has a swivel chair, pencils, and stamp pads,
but I think she's just riding with us.
No one seems to be guiding this library balloon … hmm …
could be dangerous …

May1983