Skylights, day 3

Skylights.

To your mind, skylights were needed, to me

Their geometry of blue intrusive

In a place no one was meant to see.

Ghosts would frown to admit elusive

Passing fashion, beams and motes, that would bodge

A roof, an arched guard against weather gods

From time out of mind, its tile standing on bricks

And it unwilling to weaken its pitch.

Yet, the roof and me, we shared our surprise

That light, billowing in, was strong as stone,

Its miracle opening blind eyes

To corners stacked with manuscripts,

Mummified love that would come between us;

Meaning sepia’d to paralysis.