Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Someday I will find it, the lost room,
unlocked along the long forgotten
hallway of the half-remembered
house, whose windows rise moonfully
over an ashen field at the end of a blue

invisible road. And the map I’ll fold
will be a grid of bone and blood.
And the master there will know me –
his study grained with memory, kindled
with books eared at the angle

of regret. And there will be a kind
of reconciliation. And the room,
the lost room, will sing silver
in the sky, dangle into dust, and build
itself in other realms I’ve burned.