Peeking through the stacks, owl eyes, unblinking,
Half twist to grasp that diligently sought title – turn back,
phantom eyes gone.
Loud burble and spike, like arrogant gas
rumbles. I must mask errant squeaks, lest they speak ill.
Such a day demands no allowances for happenstance.
Questions and pleasures must wait their turn, ride the
Back in the stacks, eyes bent, arms loaded,
Anxiety whispers too loudly.
Owls fly, swoop, grab, devour.