Heights

This room is cool and tall,
Stretches high above my head
To a church-like arc of white.
The curtains are crisp red and green
With a clean rectilinear pattern.
My table where I work, formica-plain
Aquamarine
And a locked door leads up to 
A high domain - a crenellation
Of old stone above 
My curved umbrella ceiling
I stare up at in the night.
Am I all right?  I wonder.
I sit and think.  I write.  I have sundered
All ties except those
Of the heart, kept close, and the dispassionate
Distance of words on a page:
'We'll see each other
Soon of course'
Suffices.

I daydream as I look
Out onto the space beyond
These large glass panes.  Away
On the hills a tiny tractor
Crawls like a snail,
Leaving furrows ... the glass cab
Flashes like a signal
To the heart of my cool room
The beams of sun
Lance my eyes
Like a doom about to fall -
Blinding - momentary pain before
All is gone.
Today is the day the silence came
And I went with it.

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