A King of Infinite Space

[Todd]

In this place there is no light
passing through these windows.

In this place words recede
to balance like razor blades on the tongue.

In this place boundaries are important;
a rainbow demarcation of crayons laid end-to-end.

In this place that hates
abstractions; the towers and bulwarks scrape
love and sorrow from the heavens.

In this place I see your tears and know
I should feel
sad?
Hear your words and know
I should turn my head—
even as my mouth forms
syllables—echolalia, the bridge
between our worlds. If only,
my hands weren’t so
fascinating. If only,
sounds didn’t pirouette,
and colors didn’t sketch the sky
in bright calligraphy.

In this place there is no door.