Books about witch burnings
and occult spells
are cast loosely across the table
in the old wing of the town library.
Two of the four chairs
pushed back,
as if in a holy hurry
to get away from all that.
Two beatdown high school girls,
gothically styled,
making out
in the nearby stacks.
When they see me seeing them
they stare back, giggle,
move deeper
into the dark tall shelves.
A creased and torn Jack Chick tract
with keno numbers in the margins
on the dented radiator cover
under the closest dirty window.
Put my head down
on the table,
feeling such joy that sometimes,
things do work out.
Dark Matter 