Strong purple stairways cross my mind
in the garden of your youth.
They twist and turn. Their levels let me stroll
above all the demons, dragons, and truth.
Small bare feet tiptoe and stairs do not creak
in the solid love of this dark.
Strong purple stairways are leading me down
over and under your heart.
The soft yarn is steady between fingers and thumbs.
The tea kettle hums a soft tune.
Grace lifts you gently and smoothly across it
as you prevent the sharp whistle so soon.
Constant purple stairways lead me to floor boards,
darkened, stained and rough,
Soft purple slippers made with soft, steady yarn
catch bare feet, again, soon enough.
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