The hinges bend – collapse,
snap forward again in space – and time.
The descent is easy – the destination is not.
He hangs his head like a dead man – maybe then he wouldn't have to walk.
His body is Aryan gold – but his brow is shaded, and his eyes are dark.
He has gone through the motions for so long – just a little longer now.
There's someone waiting for him at the bottom – an old friend.
They do not greet each other with a smile – their eyes don't meet at all.
He looks down – his legs swing out like pendulums,
tick–tock, tick–tock, tick–
His foot hits floor–
he looks up–
into his own eyes–
as they were years ago–
looking past him–
fixed on the top stair–