for Powell’s City of Books at Burnside

Wedged between coffee
and literature, the gilt chamber
launches voyagers into never and future

Departures for parallel worlds
flickering fellow-travelers, paper
waystation both jammed and empty

Wandering aisles over the horizon
blond wood shelves beyond
my sight extend celestial

Now browse in bits and bytes
select relevant readings for the moment
odd places for anomalous times

Citadels that might require space
masks, solo ventures on obscure planets
endure cramped crew quarters

Or solitude of the expanse
invented tongues for different norms
everyday nomads tasked

To meet fantastic
terrifying circumstance—
it is here

With elves and aliens
on gold-leaf sand seas, oscillate
indigo weightless floating

Unfamiliar words
from farthest fictional away
speak my language