As I enter the ransacked library
a benign calmness rinsed over me,
faces turned to mine, some
inquisitive others with acceptance
and the hope that I am a friendly visitor.
Those many faces litter the dense carpet,
a group of irritable intellectuals,
deep in conversation,
some heavyweight, stoutly bound
curiously holding the attention of their peers
others radical fast-moving,
well-thumbed paperbacks, curled
pages flapping in the breeze
caused by my entrance.
A separate cabal look to be asleep
or resting at least, disengaged face down
in a random but nonetheless compact fashion.
I quietly right a chair,
my fingers passing over the disciples, that
now surrounded me
eager to join the conversation.
© Graham Sherwood 12/2017