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
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


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

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