Old Friends on a Saturday Afternoon

in a spirit pseudo-inspired,

ascending a yawning staircase

freckled with powder blue paint

chips and hazy dust

tracks of past human climbs,


Light met me at the top

like an old friend.

we didn’t have much to say,

but we usually don’t,

and I’ve grown to like the pattern.


I let Her show me around,

point this out and that out,

countless little treasures in a 

loosely-woven basket and a rusty

camera that could be your neighbor.


and finally, as my wind-cracked palms

traced the cracks of the sand-studded vase–

rich with the 

textured complexities of a 

Carpenter’s hands–

like a stubborn, restless

child, Light slowly, without a 

sound, turned the knob

just enough


and came inside.


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