The sight of books wearing colored papers like party hats
Leads me to meditate on the distance between the books
And the stacks.  The time is spent in carrels, and that's
not inconsequential for the readers whose studious looks
are defeated by the the books piled on the sidelines -
The ones with the colorful favors  just beyond their spines.

Readers cherish the time spent perusing books in
the Babylon of culture that houses folios. But is it sin
to while away the moments of your life in another world?
The Borgesian maze that is home to ideas that are furled
in books of all sizes and languages lures too often-times.
While entry fees are paid with the cost of missed deadlines.

When blue meets blue and green appears to intercede,
And a waft of breeze dusts one's cheeks with mild
Chastisement -- a wind that offers a hint of more to come.
What do we realize in the appearance of the endless sea?

We realize we have reached the limit of land.
The idea of infinity is objectified in one color --
Or is it two? This we only discover by trying
To understand what our human nature must be.

A truce with ourselves betrays the need
To learn and discover our self in our actions.
Trying to become the end we only imagined
In the breeze -- we create hope for our future.