Leonard Cohen once crooned,
There is a crack in everything,
that’s how the light shines through.
Or something to that tune.
And I’ve been told that if walls could speak,
they’d tell me what to do.
But Nasreem Mohamedi took a photo in 1972.
The skirting board; a crack in the floor
just before the wall, from which only darkness seeps.
Like the hands of time, a twilight over life, that creeps.
Cohen may be right, but if so his cracks are few.
And maybe it’s not the walls,
but the cracks in the floor
I should be listening to.
