We talk the talk of dreams,
The sky is soft and dim and we to watch,
So full on time in merry passing by,
And as this moment meets the next,
I hope it lasts a fossil in its time,
Though it falls liminal like pleasant dreams.
Tucked away in library land,
World dampened 'tween the books,
The way starts forth gold flecks,
Among the sand, a precious hope,
Enthralling to a seethe as I then glance,
Upon the corner of a picture struck upon the mind:
O hours by the books in quiet places to be had!
Crafting words upon my screen,
What strange diction do I see?
Of public, private, void and true,
Of numbers devoured.
In jaws of brackets, yawning,
Snug against colons on the right,
A script to make the metal dream,