My face burns with shame. - Anna Margolin

My books, my great friends, gaze down on me with quiet resentment, calling me to them.

Somewhere in the world, in a city/I am flowering like a lily.

Above is a patch of sky, but this has already turned grey, cold and deeply calm. Slowly, slowly, as though embarrassed, long, soft, dark shadows crawl in through the open window, stealing their way into the room, growing bold, and making themselves comfortable in every corner.