Turning her back
on the toneless expanse,
beyond the window,
the room, which
was the colour of
— from Hotel Du Lac
a novel by Anita Brookner
I love that line, but I don't love the book.
In the same way I sometimes love a stanza but not the whole poem.
Or love a friend but not her opinion.
I am large, I contain multitudes, wrote Whitman.
And so we expand, stretching across the thorny contradiction to get to a single beautiful bloom.