I & That I Am

Snow drifts westward, general
all over the valley.  Heavier
in the mountains, I suppose.
Thoughts of Joyce drift
with the snow, though
internally.  As if without him
I would not be - and without
this snow I would not be.  Would
I not be without these? I think, 
therefore.  I am.  And without
these?  There is only these.
And I.

Parralax

Within the darkness, a girl, her hands
against her chest.  Eyes closed.

Existing: a room of shelves, endless,
unnumbered.  This room
is round, with ladders.

And she is here.  Browsing.
She opens a book.  The first
page.  Eyes swollen.  Wet paper:
transparent.
Another book.  The same.  Repeat.

Looking down, she sees the floor,
littered with books.  Red. Brown.  Black.
Now : higher.  Something new.
Dry pages and lightness.  Foreign
familiarity.  She climbed and read
a different life: he loved her.
Not as he loved her now.  Not her now.
He.
      In the darkness and quiet.  And
he.  In her.
Transparent.