You Start by Haunting Yourself

The grave architecture
Of a room in moonlight,
A white room with blinds drawn

In moonlight you don’t own,
In the dark you don’t own,
Seen with eyes that aren’t yours—

It’s an installation.
It’s a mausoleum
A configuration

Of carefully straight lines,
Scalloped curves, and pooling
Waves coming from the moon.

The skin that isn’t yours
Feels a slight chill. Machines
In the walls hum and turn

On and off, off and on.
The world that isn’t yours
Lies outside of the blinds.

There are lives, so many
Other lives, no more yours
Than your own, not tonight.