Awaiting a Greater Library

Walk backwards through the book written so far, Back, Back, Each day a page, so, seventy Since the start. Turn, Keep turning, And arrive where it started, there, Stop. It starts, in a windowless room, Where the light was from you and your open door. Sitting at a piano I can’t play, you Closed the door, Spilled secrets, At long last. From the autumn to the ice We have come half-circle. Two chapters told already, More being written, Making way for a greater library.