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,