The room
looks infinite from a corner
maybe it’s the light?
or my mind playing tricks on me?
just the physics? Could be.
But the sun will set soon
and the grey mist will
envelope the room and all
the scattered furniture within.
I wonder what
I will think of then?
the pink lamp
on a pile of books
that I can’t see?
or my own hands
which seem farther than ever
floating away, as if in
retreat,
from the horrors they
have seen.
Your presence, like a warrant
for feeling, destroys
the dark.
Yet,
you only, come by
when it’s still
light outside.
