Not Sorrow By Elisabeth Watson

Not Sorrow

Not the difference between night-filled room and day-
washed garden but between both
those and the inside of a book when it is closed.

Whatever those pronouns refer to, I do.
The wing of the ceiling can close
on the meaning of the floor and still contain a woman.

Never such a conquering as that
hush, and the push of my window out to sea.
Stop dreaming of a separate bell and sound–

distance is decoration.