I can tell this room is not a square
because the ceiling tiles don't match up
and the overhead fan isn't centered,
and the fluorescent light doesn't have
enough air around its dangling fixtures.
I can tell that the roof is not flat
because these pipes slant downward
toward this strange space
where windows used to be and
in the winter the snow slides off
into frozen barricades around the building.
And I can tell that the light on the wall
is much like the anxiety in my body,
or perhaps what I wish it was like,
in that despite its label--FIRE--
the thing itself is not fire,
the light itself is not fire,
but in fact a simple indication
of some other fire's proximity.