copper white

the fire white
sky sneers down
the horizon and
stares through
the window glass
at white and
yellowed shoes;
pretty little
feet scurry up
and up the
stairs, rising
high and spiraling
to nowhere in
particular;
footprints cover
footprints and
the voices in
their heads,
racing against
time unto forever
to the top;
drop a penny
in the fountain
dare you: come,
turn around,
then stop.

T. E. Pyrus

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