One Foot On The Stairs

With one foot on the stairs, I smell dust
from curtains billowed by the midnight
breeze. I hold a candle and I know
this nightmare is no more than shadows
held at bay. On the wall, a painting
of two chairs in a room of uncertain
perpective steals what light I may bring.
A vandal with ultraviolet hair
smears Vaseline moonglow on glass panes.
I recall the craters of her stare;
the way the air retains her perfume.
Still I might not be fit to handle
the next step, for it scares me how this
darkness grows. Yet even fear must pall.