the titles reached up high,
the mountains of fantasy
dominating the upper reaches
in long stretches of hard-to-say
names and strange england-like
lands, then came the crime
in black-and-white city streets
and men with eyes too haggard,
then bright-souled coming of age
novels, asking for optimism and love.
at the bottom sat the poems
tucked into notebooks.
She tucked a blue tress behind her ear
and eyed the lamplights flickering overhead,
letting the wind wash over her fingertips
electrifying chlorophyll veins and sparking
nerves, jolting memories of rain and tempest
out of the darkness of her heart.