Osler's Razor

I stood on 5th Avenue, pointing--
"That used to be Scribner's."
We both fell silent
A burned-over church.

On one winter day, long ago,
I had a place in New York
Not a room, but a place
Of Student, down for the day from Yale.

I shook off my boots
And paused for a bit to
Soak in the scent
Of books and what's good.

The clerk (messy blond hair)
Walked with me there
The row, the shelf, the book,
To watch and smile
And talk and laugh
As I held the book
And she tugged at her hair
A shy reader's smile.

I won't deny (I can't)
I was filled with desire
Who wouldn't be? There?
I was not yet strong
And I gave in to the impulse
She wrapped it in paper
And I have it still.