Touching Ghosts

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.