The Library

I found two crispy leaves
between the creamy pages
of a library book
of poems by Wendell Berry
[which certainly seemed fitting
if you've read him].
I took them, saved them
To hold onto fall for a spell.
I saw a jolly girl
Squatting cross-legged on the rug
Between the shelves
Entangled in skirts and a novel
And I thought what a picture of peace
Could I have, I would have
Broken off a piece of her
As well.