Imposition

I’m speechless. I have no speech.
I’m standing here in the woman’s dormitory
As quiet as a mouse on a doily.
Me and the Russian mystic who lived
On ash alone, whose long sad stare
Was notorious for making men confess
Anything weepingly.
Perhaps, I said to him, we should take refuge
In the showers. The dark cloud
That follows you everywhere is ruining
The unread books.
It was like Aristotle’s cave in there.
It was also like a sod house during a storm.
Everything damp, everything decaying.
The single woman taking a shower
Thought herself unattractive to men,
Although her legs were quite beautiful.
Carrying her around in that mist,
Keeping distance from the walls,
Making for the heavy door.