Walk backwards through the book written so far, br Back, br Back, br Each day a page, so, seventy br Since the start. br br Turn, br Keep turning, br And arrive where it started, there, br Stop. br It starts, in a windowless room, br br Where the light was from you and your open door. br Sitting at a piano I can’t play, you br Closed the door, br Spilled secrets, br At long last. br br From the autumn to the ice br We have come half-circle. br Two chapters told already, br More being written, br Making way for a greater library.