There were dreams when I was younger
on the shore, where the green of pines
floods the surface of a quiet lake

gently stirred by the breeze
as it pushed across and drew your eye
to an abandoned seminary

a quarter mile up the steep cliff
that shaded the trees 
in late afternoon.

If you looked close
you could see an iron gate
overgrown with ivy;

it is the base of the two hundred and eighty steps
to the kitchen.
                         We climbed them once and could smell
the mortality served within those walls.


Next Stop>