In Words Adrift

Bleak and diminished,
shrunken to the size of its lamp’s
feeble reach,
this room encases a lone reader
in his chair.
Doorways are mortared shut by
the dark’s wall,
and drawn curtains muffle sound
as anonymity is
found in the reading of another’s
crafted depictions.
The stairs to his bed and dreams
so near, but far,
he seems contained, restricted
to light’s boundary.
Still, despite the dense weight
of solitude,
the grounding embrace of place,
tonight, this room
remains vacant; in words adrift,
he’s elsewhere.