Up
Perhaps where none should be
Perhaps where a door
Was mistakenly without
A locking key
Dust in the rafters
A thrill of the
Trespasser’s vantage
A catwalk of intrigue
Tempting one to climb
Up a set of dark, cramped
Stairs
And through an unlocked door
To find
A jutting place above the scenes
Not where anyone should be
By vents and wires
Dusted and tired
Of laying so lonely
On the ground and railings
Upon the catwalk where
Men no longer leave tailings
So it is the heat of a haven
The burn of an attic
One sits with in the perch
And watches below as
People crowd and walk about
But just fifty feet up
Someone is silent
In the rafters above
All caked with old dust
Camouflaged
In cables and HVAC
Black paint to hide that
There is more going on
Than some care to notice
In the rigging above
Where no one
Will show us
