marine-ala

May I hasten to languish alone in the still-solaced vaults of an Oxford library, surrounded by echoes of Egypt, and tapped on the shoulder by Greeks philosophic? May I twirl in a rose-printed skirt in those chambers, euphoric? unsettling the dust of papyri and conjuring shimmering clouds forth, so only the fingerprints, studied and steady of scholars in tortoise-shell spectacles, once homing pigeons here, remain? May I scatter in orange-edged leaves the frost's silence and hasten across the court, breathless and caught by the joy of an endless pursuit?