It Was As If a Ladder’ by Jane Hirshfield
It was as if a ladder,
and each rung,
real to itself,
round or slat,
narrow or wide,
rope or metal –
and as you ascended,
real to yourself,
the rungs directly above
you solid,
directly beneath you, solid.
Scent of peeled orange
mixed with gasoline,
sound of hammers.
Farther below,
the rungs one by one vanished.
F arther above,the rungs one by one
vanished.
And the side-rails’ lines
vanished, as into
a drawing by Brunelleschi.
Scent of peeled orange
and gasoline,
sound of hammers.
Grip now, night-dog, your barking:
this ladder in air,
invented by others, received by others.
Source: The Guardian
