A chill passed through me last night.
\nFrom the Hermitage.
\nFrom the vast collection of gold
\nand gardens,
\nfaces,
\nthe stone of love,
\nmen and women born in quarries.<\/p>\n
Under the arctic sun,
\na city of snow.
\nIt entered my bones in bed,
\namong the treasures of the ages.
\nIn my solipsism I asked,
\ndoes the beauty of the world
\nfall in me?
\nIs it gone when I am gone?
\nWho in the Hermitage stands guard?
\nWho locks the doors to vandals?<\/p>\n
How much is metaphysical?
\nHow much, if all,
\nis the warmth of my blood,
\nthe sea of my soul?
\nAnd I shivered,
\nholding my pillow,
\nsimple me,
\nwith a Hermitage to guard,
\nand no place else to go.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A chill passed through me last night. From the Hermitage. From the vast collection of gold and gardens, faces, the stone of love, men and…<\/p>\n