One day I hope to have a house
and in it, a library.
It doesn’t have to be very large
but a proper room with a window and door
and a different feeling than the rest of the house.
A sacred place.
The books in dark brown bookcases
all awash in red in the glaring daylight,
their covers indistinguishable.
But at night, by a small standing lamp,
the shutters are drawn
and the red swells like a heart
and the books like illuminated manuscripts,
will transcend the need of their reading.
It’s strange to look for comfort in cramped spaces.
I’m waiting for the rains to crash against my windows
like waves against the rocks.
Art by Mark Rothko
No comments:
Post a Comment