In the palace of Borges’ Immortals
Nothing made any architectural sense.
Staircases narrowed to triangular points
Darkened corridors dead-ended
Into cinder block walls
The basement was just a void
That fell to the center of the earth
Ceilings were on the floor
And the floors, well, they were
Just a certain kind of ceiling.
Tiny trap doors opened into cathedral-like
Dining halls. Arching gilded portals
Led to monkish hovels barely
Large enough for a cot. But I never
Saw a soul. As I wandered
These grounds I came upon an idea,
A train of thought that seemed to make
Sense of it all.
In the following lines I will attempt
To convey my secret understanding—
First I noticed the silence
Then I began to lose my words.