the library

Heart racing arrythmically he tries to go to sleep, to find sleep, to fall into sleep, he cannot catch a breath, he cannot find any comfortable position in which to settle his uncomfortabling body in this narrow bed and in this the very word settle is trailing so very many stray thoughts through his mind and now the very word rattle, the very words, words?, i've gone and done it now, he thinks, why do they call this buying the farm? there are so many things now but what were they are they things? the morning, the screened-in porch, the yard, the yard fields the grassy expanses, trees, movement, rain, dusk and animals gathering in the treeline, cows in fields along the highway indifferent, indifferent the cows and indifferent the highways, the feel the smell of warm earth, the soil against my face and hands, facedown in the soil and grass, I could have lay in that one place forever! he would like to walk again, to walk in a walking person's walking body, walking, he cannot place himself in that context now, of all the things which felt final in his life, this is the finalest, and he would never have used a word such a word in what he now knows was an other life, he would never have even thought of such a word as finalest, it's not a word, I'm not a word he's in stacks of bookstacks in a room, in a library, deep underground, seated crosslegged on the floor, it is all gathered here it is all gathered here thumbing through a