In the Stacks

Well beyond her reach
on the highest rack, Cordelia
searches the stacks.

Rare manuscript, not for the gilded
page, the gold embossed leather title
like royalty. Blind, her fingers

know the skin, rubbed and oiled,
trace the crease of the elbow
where the binding forms the spine.

He is here, in the stacks, in the
yellowed pages, caught in the maelstrom,
undone, well beyond her
reach.