On every stairway
with the kite-shaped step
I stop on that step
one second
to commemorate
one particular step
in the shape of a kite
I’ll never again
be able to step on
I’ll never again
be able to set foot on
one particular
step in the shape
of a kite
but there’s reason to think
it still exists
albeit no longer
for me to step on
Low light, obsidian,
Florida water,
cedarwood cone—
I will never again
set foot on the one
step in the flesh
but when I step on another
like it, it’s as if
I’m stepping on
Low light, obsidian,
seashell lined
in mother-of-pearl, to set
foot on the one
is to step on the other
now, long ago—
blown sheets in the wind,
a railing I can feel
the absence supper.