I dare not open the windows
less my books may complain to me
of the noise of pounding rock
produced by a canteen reconstruction site.
I dare not shut the windows for long
less they may suffer from
the stuffy air I hate most.
They are so quiet around the walls,
sometimes I don’t feel
a need to read them,
rather, I breathe with them
when day is dawned,
when morning is fresh,
when the sun is weary.
I like to sit alone
with my mind’s magnetic field
interfusing with my countless predecessors’
until all stars light up the night sky
and my illuminated Self, the same with theirs,
formless, which cannot be contained
in Time and Space.