Between

The staircase spirals into the room,
romantic and flowing,
a path between heaven and hell,
and those who would travel
between them

unafraid of either,
protected not by shields
or perfection,
but by love,

flimsy and fickle,
yet somehow more powerful
than brokenness or fear,
it waits.

About this poem

I have been feeling flat these past few weeks – a physical thing, a wearing down from sickness and too much activity and travel. Today, I had nothing. So I simply took a picture, wrote a line, and waited, trusting the muse. And this is what he gave me.

The photograph was taken at the Shelburne museum, during a visit with the kids this past summer.

Tom