In the beginning is a house
It starts with this and out
Inward and begins
It’s subtleness remains

A dark staircase
A stowed briefcase
It’s contents never named

I behold its structure
Its chasms full and wide
A thing is kept
Its world upswept
And to it this is pride

I fall because I can
And loneliness is man
If you dare breach
What wise men teach
Then steward your own hand

A dark staircase
A stowed briefcase
Its contents made of sand

And will confess
Under life’s distress
That future ness
Is moments plan

© 3/7/2004
William Grant Preston