it is the light of candles in the window
the vaporous dawn
glowing
and not yet the sun
it is
the skin of shadow
wavering in teacups in india
the 'Bushel-of-Rice' king
smiling
at two suns.
it is the secret
of doors that have no other side
and the mystery of
rooms that lead
to them.
it is
a small thing
more vast
than

why ?

and the
need of
.