Poetry By
Bethany Powell
Published on: 1/14/2013
In Harmony with Ghosts
I have been up the thousand steps Not for blessing, but to follow those before Who maybe in earnest prayers, maybe flippant hope Walked up these stairs since the temple was built four hundred years ago There is something sacred in their footsteps and mine On the same stone, though in such different shoes, Just as the air by a pine is sacred with its bite And the sound of a bell rings the heart, and is holy. Let me walk up this way with no expectation Just the dream of being part of this ancient place Let my knees creak and thighs burn, and my breath Rasp in my chest on that eight hundredth step, like yours.
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