Shortcuts in DNA

The torsin cyrve, a hurricane in an aether took me down to the third basement of the University Library the cyrve held me up, drunk on words as I walked down aisles stretching high on chairs to tenderly take slim volumes down sit in a chair reading, reading always reading.  I feel small here, small as the number of sentences I have read while all about kalisdesopes of words crowd in clouds awaiting eyes and voice and imagination. The touch of a book remains as the hurricane storm diminshes, torsin holes close now new knowledge lent to the everyday. Within me, in each drop of blood a magic battle spreads unconstrained, refashioning me, reopening me, ready for suprises, grateful that unconditional love is so often a suprise.