untitled

sitting among those working i read
a line about collection
the principles behind it becomes the heart-
tracing those thoughts on paper

the structure is suspended
with fine wood handles
the pile is silent
a brilliant white

the mesh gray peeks through
with a hand it flashes
and the sound
falling on to wood floor politely

i shut the book and stared
looked at the hands and pulled on my coat
not needing it for the warmth