The world fits in a room

In the somberness of a quiet room, I laid more dreamless than the walls around me, The lone pink glow of my bedside light, Cast its hue like a lighthouse, Beckoning its lonely sailor from sea. The world beyond turned without me, Indifferent to my yearning heart.

Beyond the window is everything. Japan, Switzerland, Spain. Sprawling pastoral towns, Dizzying icy mountain roads, And gothic cathedrals erected in godless cities. My ghostly feet walk through a cool wood, As I breathe the clarifying breeze from a languid ocean, And gaze at the glossy morning dew illuminating a vineyard. All the while, plagued with the haunting notion— It will all persist even when I die without seeing it. I am a lonely sailor, but I have no sea. Suddenly, the long night ends And the dreadful shadows shrink back into their homes, Shriveling in fear at the first touch of light. In the room, I am no longer alone. We are, at once, two lonely sailors, Giving each other the sea.

Suddenly it is clear, The world does not belong to the beyond, It can fit in my room. In hushed whispers and hands clasped softly together, The world is spurred by the flutter of our eyelids, And brought to life by the intent of our gaze. It orbits around our embrace And centers its gravity in the soft beating of our heart, Which pushes and pulls at the waves on the shore, Casting its lonely sailors further into the sea.