The back stairway was a passage,
an eye opening ritual of shadows and
whispers seeking shelter behind a familiar door.
Cracked plaster and numerous unknown stains are
illuminated by a single light, its wire descending
from a dark ceiling, faintly showing the way to go.
It was a space without quiet, a conduit from
here to there. A grazing landscape of up and down.
Footsteps tapped out intentions without pause.
Winter air flooded in. Summer melted transient
travelers. Visitors of all hours passed through,
finding their way.
