sorry, Mr. Percy.
I say on a Sunday.
got stuck invisible as life.
on 29th street.
invisible as my hand.
which I see everyday.
ignore.
continue.
I come alight on 33rd and Park.
walk.
in the biggest rooms we die.
adios, Mr. Percy.
the loud librarian is now as good as dead.
lost in his automobile.
probably just another fender on 57th street.
coughing into life.
the search starts.
and should never end.
What is it you seek- God? you ask with a smile.
no.