There is

The wealthy have changed hands at the top level of government.

My mother used to take me to used bookstores.

Some find themselves only after they are lost.

Between the stacks I heard your quiet sigh.

Between the stacks I heard your quiet sigh.

We are so busy putting on faces, we are never real with one another.

I want to draw them like my french girls.

How she is quiet before his robe falls

Tenuous grasp though It may seem,

The dust motes drift languidly Like they have nowhere to be.