Voices from Other Rooms

Every painter has

A Blue Period

Although its blueness

Is no symbol of

Its creator’s youth

Or inspiration,

Not necessary followed by

The Pink Period only a few

Artists will ever penetrate into.

Does any of their works

Ever come out of the blue?

Little reason they give us,

Only voices from other rooms

I hear, but no certitude

I understand –

And we ask them questions

They absorb and send away.

Those two feathered wings

Divided by a flying heart

Belong to the same bird

Who sends her echoes

To my murdered heart,

Lifelong alive in its

Cloudbursted fairway.

I hear these Voices from Other Rooms

Echoing their reply

To my air ache

A sailor has brought me

I will trade for their voices, from other rooms.