Touching Ghosts

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Climbing A Stairwell
Step By Step
Dark And Shrouded
I Am Not Sure That I
Should Be, Nor if
Things Are As They
Should Be.

Lantern’s Touch
Sends Light Spiraling;
Downward,
Searching.

Things Skitter And Skirt
From Footfall Forming A
Sunrise Of Moments,
Sometimes Falling

When Bumped A Bruised
To Start Again.
Attempting Creaking Stairs That Sound As If
Well Oiled Chains Could Be Taught
To Free A Slave.