Branch Library 

I wish I could find that skinny, long-beaked boy 
who perched in the branches of the old branch library. 

He spent the Sabbath flying between the wobbly stacks 
and the flimsy wooden tables on the second floor,   

pecking at nuts, nesting in broken spines, scratching 
notes under his own corner patch of sky. 

I'd give anything to find that birdy boy again 
bursting out into the dusky blue afternoon 

with his satchel of scrawls and scribbles, 
radiating heat, singing with joy.

From Special Orders, copyright 2003