IN MY CELL

My stone walls
are bare and mouldy
my bedstead cold
my mattress lumpy

the damp hangs like the crucifix on the wall
its sharp edges difficult to embrace

but the the orb of light
and sensuous curve of my lampstand
remind me of warmer climes and the arc of life
the ornate sconce on the wall of Hindu temples and Taj Majals
and crawling vines that show me the way out