My neighbors, my remnants, in what have you chosen 
to bury your heads? Shadow said one mote 
in an auditorium after a lecture. Some 
archive explorer had just finished discussing 
a group of islands. Inside me for a while 
a tribe had theorized purely and wrongly 
its location merely on the basis of tides. I was 
feeling extinct, and wishing for a sudden
totally silent sliding out from the wall of twenty 
or so very excellent beds so we the audience 
could together engage in further collective 
dreaming. I would describe that lecturer’s voice 
as twilight shadow smeared origami cloudlet 
but the historical ceiling gilded by the names 
of agreed-upon great thinkers is a beautiful dowager 
making her sleepy wishes into dimness 
soon to retire gracefully known. I hear soft 
seventies cell phone songs. Come home 
those who love a librarian aspect. I am one, 
for give her time and she will answer any question 
no matter how spiral, no matter how glass,