A limited observer
such as I,
gone alone
into a room
where others' selves
connected to it
once existed.
In all directions
I turn –
around and around
in this place
because I know it
not well – not well
enough at least
to try to interpret it.
The view seems empty until…
coming through so interestingly,
blending with the listless air,
the raw thrill of morning's light –
it is ever lovely,
witnessing the spreading of it.
A current interest issues forth,
alleging a form of dialogue
punctuated by an impression
creeping into consciousness,
insinuating itself upon me –
I try to excerpt its poem,
to write determinately its drama,
finding me where I am.
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