Circular stairwell

 Those wooden sisters
those wooden stairs
the baked clay dirt outside
Under the drought of a thousand days

I call out the large fast growing pine
That has kept up with the pace of the stairwell
That wooden stair rounded circular twisting upward
To help him climb to his bedroom at the top

Sleep off those long warm afternoons
The dry yellow clay ground compacted not a blade of grass
My father looked down through the lightly tinted clean window
His eyes searching for a son or a pet

To keep his mind from the swirling staircase
Sunlit days long mornings eternal afternoons in slumber
bathing in the liquid of memory