"Break the Mirror, Open the Window"
The room is ample, and smells
like old paper and wood. Nothing
lies between the walls. But everything
moves between the walls. Dust always swirls,
restless, now calm, now excited, now playfully fast.
It is likely to rest on memories, swallows passing by.
Sometimes, it is a tough job to disentangle the two.
But much more passes by
than swallows and dust.
This is a perennial
This wooden box of Pandora,
this little greenhouse of Eden.
The walls have no window. Whenever
there is one, it is always closed. Whenever
there is one, it serves to show some contrast.
The rule goes: no window, no prison.
Hum, hum, hum. The walls are humming.
Here, there, here, there, the room is
rocking. Hum, hum, old swallows
are lulling, lulling, lulling,
lulling me home.
Home out of the mirror.