Space

This is the sixth of seven poems in a series.

Space

The house had been dark for days,
the curtains drawn.
Imperceptibly almost, the mood
darkened and dankened.
When the light came in through
the windows....
What was that weight that was sitting on my head?

Her house was full of antiques,
things beautiful and old and full
of an artisan's care.
Wood and stone buddhas,
tapestries, rugs, old jars,
precious knick-knacks
of every description.

Too much. My mind clogged.

No faith in me. Not even a shred.
I still find peace in the stark and spare,
the bright and air,
of a Trappist church.

I stayed there one night, the monastery,
in a room with a bed and a chair and
a window on fields and woods.
That's all.

I slept deeply and peacefully.