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.
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