The Double House

I was charged one morning with the task to consider, That certain notions of who I was, Had merely become a pretext for avoiding Becoming someone else. In the world I faced a new coordinate system was needed. I became aware of the double house I lived in, With keys to locked doors hidden someplace In a room upstairs I could not get to. The stairs that once led my eyes upwards To the always waiting wolf, Who knew which forest called And which did not, Were gone. Twelve rooms I once had, Where in each a moon lived, All but one told lies, The others just kept me alive. The outside appeared Through glass windows Seemingly to my front. As I turned my head to the right They stared- both at and through me, I for one stared back. When I turned my head to the left They turned to the right. There was a wind whose conviction to get out Surprised me as it opened the front door and left Before setting off to the right and leaving forever The garden furniture a mess. There was graffiti On the walls outside painted in hieroglyphics By spirits whose tombs were lit by the lights of Greedy reading men in search of texts to drink. There was an empty glass of beer and a bottle Of wine whose neck was broken by a corpse Who had forgotten the spiral path where thirst Is quenched and hunger tamed. There was a Hideous raven with laughing black eyes whose Beak held the stolen secret words of a crying Falcon. There were eleven doves who stood In umbrage over the body of a canary whose Only crime was to be a sign post of things never Meant to be. A bee zigzagging to the north of My eyes whispered in a southward direction to Mind my own business and find the long lost key. To those who knew me he has disappeared, She only just left some seconds ago, Yesterday’s passing clouds have reappeared, Where to sleep tomorrow I do not know, Rigid connections in all themes and dreams, Truths designated only by what seems. With a surge of courage that surprised me, A thought took hold that shook my aching bones, I saw emptiness in a great vast sea, I heard silent winds full of singing tones, In the double house I felt the lost voice, It told me, with thoughts, that I had no choice. My ego’s resentment I did let go, For what else is ego but resentment? My double house is empty that I know, A path outside will give life contentment, To each book there lives a tiny riddle, Life, like books, a journey in the middle. From the interior I took one last look and left forever, The stairs would never come back, Nor the twelve rooms would I see, The wolf however waited outside, And he whispered something magical which made me cry, We set off together she and I, In the forest eleven rooms we would build, The twelfth we discovered one day in our twilight, In the middle of our forest, in the middle of our book, in the middle of our late life. In that room we found our one true moon.