“Early Morning in Your RoomIt’s morning. The brown scoops of coffee, the wasp-likeCoffee grinder, the neighbors still asleep.The gray light as you pour gleaming water–It seems you’ve traveled years to get here.Finally you deserve a house. If not deserveIt, have it; no one can get you out. MiseryHad its way, poverty, no money at least.Or maybe it was confusion. But that’s over.Now you have a room. Those lighthearted books:The Anatomy of Melancholy, Kafka’s Letter to his Father, are all here. You can danceWith only one leg, and see the snowflake fallingWith only one eye. Even the blind manCan see. That’s what they say. If you hadA sad childhood, so what? When Robert BurtonSaid he was melancholy, he meant he was home.”