August 12, 2010

The Hidden Staircase

A foundation's outline
blurred by sagebrush, scrub--

you step carefully in
where the kitchen once was--
burnt bread, scorched linen--

hawks like cinders spiral
in the brilliant sunlight--

another step--the parlor,
fragments of a fireplace

nothing now but stones
beneath your feet. You sweat.

You slug from the canteen.
Imagine a glittering bar, imagine
a hand on a doorknob,

a finger at the switch,
hovering--a wasp searching
for a crumbling home--imagine

the intoxicating possibility
of what's behind a wall.