Clouds rumble,
I walk the crooked stair.
If hair fell like a waterfall;
But instead it falls like ash
And soot.
If only footprints like
A horse carriage in brittle snow,
But instead they sloth and sludge
In muddy pasts
And saddened hearts.
If voices like a song, called out
Instead they gargle
Moan
And wail.
Instead they tell the tale
Of the day the clouds rumbled
And I walked the crooked stair.