Tuesday, August 01, 2006

The Back Stairwell

At the top of the stairs
is a door with cracks of light
around its frame.

At the bottom
there's no way out,
only darkness, dust,
and the possibility of rats.

All alone, thirty seven and a virgin,
in this wreck of stones
where the walls have caved,

she twirls in front of a mirror
on the landing; stardust falling
all around her like a ballerina trail
across a stage. Like a key
under stones.

5 Comments:

Blogger Chris Never said...

she twirls in front of a mirror
on the landing; stardust falling
all around her like a ballerina trail


Sometimes, you make me wish for me from my mind. I just love this , its so perfectly balanced and beautiful.When you take off, none shall follow you with the naked eye Moon, you arc across a sky worlds away from the rest of us.

3:08 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

'you arc across a sky worlds away from the rest of us.'

This is so much how I feel inside ... it's a long way back sometimes.

Thanks Chris

3:19 PM  
Blogger Kora said...

how pretty.. yet again great beautiful imagery

8:41 PM  
Blogger Kora said...

Can you write a poem about tears? or pain? or the pain in a heart that weeps forever in the absense of a friend...?

10:25 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

Dear Kora, I'll post a few for you.

6:07 PM  

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