A ladder left leaning against a wall, as though someone had eloped with the window.
White rungs like the moonlight practicing scales.
An uneasy bridge between the vertical and the horizontal.
The way the lack of an object turns ascent into transcendence, something to aspire to, a grasp exceeded only by its own reach.
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Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax -- Of cabbages -- and kings -- And why the sea is boiling hot -- And whether pigs have wings.
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- Falstaff
- Minneapolis, MN
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1 comment:
Very little to say; except that it gladdens the heart to read your posts. I must be the billionth person saying this to you but I can't appreciate your writing enough.
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