The staircase; so skirt chase,
I pass by words I'd said before:
The allure, and demure,
She takes my hands and asks no more.
If I only might be real
In the pattern in her wheel,
Let her spin me sweet again,
So I surface now and then ---
The dreams seep; so softly,
I watch for what she sees in me:
The names slip, and heart skip,
She sets her faith where others flee.
If my outline might be matched
In the shape her hopes had patched,
Let me settle in her cares
So I smooth out all of theirs.
Or if a mended heart could find
In love again, let it be mine.
