a long tome, it belongs
between a study about aretaics
and one on vulcanology

years ago it was misshelved
by a girl who snapped it shut
in fright, shoved it

roughly and randomly back
in any old place where she found
some random gap in the stacks

when you type in its title
you’re sent to the airy
sixth floor, suffused on all sides

with light from large windows
packed with tall shelves
lined with reams of wisdom

what you don’t know:
it will be years yet before it’s found
the book you’re looking for

lives now in the basement
caught in the ragged jacket
of a volume on mnemonics