I have gathered thousands, trying to capture something difficult to maintain. A feeling that the universe holds out its hand, an animal that comes when I call its name, a telescope oriented inward, a portal to something gleaming and strange. Each of my children grows into a different creature than I had expected. A strange library turns up in my coat, another in my hat. For a moment, I believe that I am part of the drama of all thought, passed like an heirloom over time. Possible countries and edges with minds of their own. The cryptic remainder, as if time could be extended with books. Maybe it can be or maybe I am just collecting fragments of dreams.