EXIT

Some day I will walk out of this place as if out of a house
The door will slam and the house will fall over
Like a prop, and the sky will spring into place
As if hinged: the streets will go straight on
Through the cities, and into the desert, and we will

Live there with our figs and our camels and our skins of gold.
The sky will be clean, like clean glass. The heat will shimmer in the air like soft satin.
It will be easy, like mailing a letter at the corner.

Now it is winter, and the sky is so thin
The dark is seeping through it already, like dark underpaint.
The windows are thick and heavy with bars.
The bannisters are round and the furniture is massive.

I am two-dimensioned and light, a pencilled cartoon.
Now there is no way to get out but to go to the fire
And go up the chimney in smoke. Others are doing it.
Overhead, the night sky is heavy with crowds.