Thursday, April 1, 2010



Not what is there, but the gaps between the things.
Space, limited. Walled, always, with plaster or glass,

or by the eye's need to determine an end. Edged,
perimetered, the places behind these borders.

The objects in a room belong together. The light
looks different from room to room. Rooms face

opposing directions. There is an entrance, here
it is. This is an exit. A room is also an experience.

It guides you. It brings your hands to its faucets
and then beneath the flow of water. Or it brings you

to the window so you can see the sky before you
sleep, and then it pushes you back, down, into bed.

An order based on where your movement would be
stopped, by wall, by furniture. Rooms give significance

to the smallest of tasks. Come in, the room tells you,
and move. Let my walls be revived by what you do.

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