As descents go, this was effortless.
Each foot placed in a hold
as sure as walking the pavement.
Unexpectedly Alice tumbles,
teacup over kettle,
only to find the cake finale
an indeterminate mystery.
Our hearts won't be ruled.
it is up to us to govern ourselves
in the garden we were given, and
the games will end
when we tire and walk away.
I don't want to forget this journey,
the taking of this trip
entirely by accident, as if I
did indeed merely trip
as if I
could pick myself up and skip away-
chalk paintings done in magic,
bleeding color into the background.
I don't look back. I can't look back.
Like the leading man leaving the explosion,
I stare ahead behind rose glasses.
Every descent is not a disaster.
Some are just epic daydreams,
where white and red are both love.