It was awhile before I understood what was between the stairs

there is no ring tighter,

this is not an attempt to explain,

these symbols are everywhere
repeating is the function unlike

this morning or even now

but there is no pattern more bound

to itself it speaks of continuous

not a smile or lovingly unlike children

screaming it beckons and even here
it seems silent, a light only itself

but if the ear is pressed

tightly now against the blackness

the birds can be seen scattering
away from the blueness of fire in the evening

unlike the burning in the throat or the smooth
as pinecones against the insides of these toes

of course the magenta of movement and the please

of the expected next, the only way to question

is the through the statement unlike the tunnel

the mountain feels no separation
the mouth merely mimics