On every stairway
       with the kite-shaped step
I stop on that step
       one second
to commemorate 
one particular step
       in the shape of a kite 
I’ll never again
       be able to step on

I’ll never again
       be able to set foot on
one particular
       step in the shape
of a kite
but there’s reason to think
       it still exists 
albeit no longer
       for me to step on

Low light, obsidian, 
       Florida water,
cedarwood cone—
       I will never again
set foot on the one
step in the flesh
       but when I step on another 
like it, it’s as if
       I’m stepping on

Low light, obsidian, 
       seashell lined
in mother-of-pearl, to set 
       foot on the one
is to step on the other 
now, long ago—
       blown sheets in the wind,
a railing I can feel
       the absence supper.