as if the two occupied
a spectrum: wonder could be
raised by some degree to life,
or life bowed down to wonder,
blades of grass you trod
unbent, returned again to form;
as if the two occupied
an apartment, in the doorway
notches of wood marked all
of life’s growth, as rain came
down in streams on the window
pane that could be shoe laces,
heavy laces, fiery kisses,
dangling bare feet; as if no two
things were left, you played
at this construction, glancing
at the fire escape.
David Capps is a philosophy professor at Western Connecticut State University. He is the author of two chapbooks: A Non-Grecian Non-Urn (Yavanika Press, Dec. 2019) and Poems from the First Voyage (The Nasiona, 2019). He lives in Hamden, CT.
© 2020, David Capps
Halfway Down the Stairs 