Fixing loose-curl auburn lockets, the pins embed And turn again. Step, and forward sway the hipbone, Thirty, forty, a flight of granite looming forward, Front and back, past my skirt tail – laden laced, pearly Quiet go the foot pads, front illuminations rest forgotten, Past the small mouse scuffling four-paw: zigging, zagging Along the stair stage. Past the morning call in woodpecker Tongue, squalls and loudly names the dawning. Softly, I ascend the cold rough stairwell; careful Not to spend courage whole. Wring the rusty thoughts of amorphous dreaming, eat the Bad thought before the stairwell – rubbish orts and morsels thin Of single tipped barbs, and doubted quenching alas Before they mean too much. Wave with white hands a fare-thee-well, the apparition That pauses; portentously grinding its nothing on the wall Seemingly real the whitewash of nothing, he is voided But lives existent in that other-world well, Singing, and that much better for it. Twitch the dreaming skull-bone loose, and question not, As I mask my tooth-grin with knuckled fingers; He spots me slinking past the wound in time and calls me closer, So that I may meet him.