Tue, 22 September

For the light that came in blades and asked nothing of the carpet For the hour it thinned toward blue and did not apologize For the cold that gathered at the glass like a small patient congregation For the mug of tea, cooling untouched, its warmth given up in silence For the thirty minutes the screen kept vigil, amber against the navy dark For the low brass seam of lamplight at the desk's corner, faithful and small For the chair that held a shape and let it go without complaint For the dark that comes back regardless, and is received Amen to the room that was occupied by no one