Staircase at Fifteen


Staircase at Fifteen

Ascending, her centrifugal
influence captures me

and I follow,
witless, wordless,

despite all longing
and shared

discretions, despite
the thundering
and the incessant
demand to act
or run.

She pauses, looks
down, sees

Suddenly freed,
spinning off
and slowing down,

far below, on equal
footing but so

never to meet
in truth, unable
to define direction or

motive, I remain
fixed as she moves
higher, far away, close

but up,
always up.


20 thoughts on “Staircase at Fifteen

  1. My God, can poetry actually be this good!? The last time I got this excited over writing it was the first time I read Kinkakuji by Mishima…while sitting on a bench right across the pond from the actual temple! ę›øćč¾¼ćæć®ćƒžć‚¹ć‚æćƒ¼ļ¼

    Liked by 2 people

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