Painted White

I have fallen
Twisting the bannisters
To white ash where my hand flails
Fleetingly
I had thought of help from the
spindled trees
But they scorn and too fall
As they always have, again and
again
To be mouldings
And other things painted white
Indifferent now as everything is
The cat on a bottom stair
Thinks not to move  Unpertrubed
He has nine lives

I think 
Only of white things
to be painted white at last

M ~