Prying at the floor with a crowbar,
looking for those shelving planks for a library sub-rosa.
Tracing the grains, bent double,
nose inches from the unreadable archives invisible.
Scrubbing the ink like blood from my hands,
the smoke from fingers un-scrapeable.
The dye of the palimpsest indelible,
I take up the bar again
and strike sparks in the depths
to set the whole thing afire.