The stairway in my
Parent's house
Holds a procession of those
I know and don't
Walking fast nor
Slow in pace
But with accepted purpose
Smiling, ignoring me
Standing still
I'm made from mist
I watch them climb
Follow in bursts
Choosing from
Bedroom doors
They're gone forever
But still more come
In promised tone
I hear my voice
I know I am in
Limbo
She was there like a ghost
Pouting, angry
That I had not given
Her something I should have
I stayed on the
Landing
Watching them leave
Smoke in still air
Everything told me
That a Storm was coming
Static fingertips
Even at clear midnight
Like I'm far out to
Sea
All silvered moon spray and
Thick, prussian deep
Photography by Krystyna
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