I wish I could find that skinny, long-beaked boy <br />who perched in the branches of the old branch library. <br /> <br />He spent the Sabbath flying between the wobbly stacks <br />and the flimsy wooden tables on the second floor, <br /> <br />pecking at nuts, nesting in broken spines, scratching <br />notes under his own corner patch of sky. <br /> <br />I'd give anything to find that birdy boy again <br />bursting out into the dusky blue afternoon <br /> <br />with his satchel of scrawls and scribbles, <br />radiating heat, singing with joy.<br /><br />Edward Hirsch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/branch-library/
