The Studier

Stacks of books eventually destroy interest
and studying in heat is oppression.

Finally distracted, the studier presses
his sweating hands against the table hard.
When he retrieves them
The dregs of his hands stay:
Sweat, oil, and hints of prints.
The specters on the wood command a halt,
with palms open,
but vanish quickly into the auburn varnish.
He puts his hands to his face and takes them away,
leaving that same human residue there.

They are permanent.
His hands are permanent.
Just as he himself is permanent.
He will not fade into conquered wood
but fall into the course of time
at exactly his spot, there forever.

"There is only the moment,
there is only the present moment!"

Stacks of books are gifts from history;
they prove his point so the studier starts again,
less conscious of the heat and death.