I suppose this place,
A place of Twin Springs
and the Upper Sager

and the Lower Sager
Near the library,
the eternal, endless
passages of books

A place where we can sit
with toes in the water
feet nibbled by fish.

This is a place for the bookish.

To walk along paved walks,
ran and cycled, on their way
to those book lined alleys.

I, on my way back,
up the stairs, along
the curved path
to my small room.

To read in peace,
look out the window
watch feral cats and boys
dancing on painted, wooden
trolleys. Jumping curbs.

There is no place better
that I can see.
Not a place with gold-lined,
spotless streets.

For my bookish ways,
my bookish eyes,
my love of the page
blank and otherwise,
are meant for a bookish place.