if all the world were but a room
and I an inmate in it,
I should sleep day and night
and watch the fan tracing
circles on the wall.
if my room were all the world
and I could stay inside it always,
I should sit in my chair with my
mind adrift and watch the leaves
as they changed.
if my room and the world were
one and the same,
and I could live inside it,
I would drift happy from morning
to night, dreaming dreams of dreams
and watching the light
hovering like butterflies
on my brain,
shifting and melting
and flowing into
the wall.
