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.
I imagine
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
and fall,
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.
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