The sound of days & books

The streets are library quiet
A clarity, hid in the serried facades
Serrated trees and telegraph lines
Crossing at that infinite point
Where perspective fails
I put my reading glasses on
Finding in the shapes of words, clear and close
The world – not so far, gone indistinct 
We abide in our houses, like rough, disordered books
The leaves of other people’s dreams
In that owling susurrus
A white noise blur
In my clumsied restlessness 
A few loose pages rent 
Gusting down the road
In obdurate branches, catch
Wondering if
By a kind, entangling osmosis
What stray words are crossing in between