White cats
Clawed at my feet
Where the landing
Fell abruptly
Atop what floor
Had shifted
Concealing stairs
Beneath

Breaking
Through each cage
Hissing loudly
While they lingered
Telling me
Our closest exit
Wasn’t meant
For such escape

As bookshelves
Shed their dust
Near windows
Cracked and beaming
With ivy laced
Around them
Over moldings
Chipped from age

In that attic
Never seen
Only known
By certain dreaming
During moments
Staring upwards
Wishing houses
Had more space

Like this garret
Much too vast
For explaining
Its existence
Which extends
Beyond forever
Making sense
Since castles float

When mansions
Within minds
Become levels
Just above us
Swearing God
Has hidden secrets
Among treasures
Stored away

High as hopes
We’d never seek
Staying grounded
Under pressures
Between hallways
Safely guarded
From these felines
Strangely mad

Wishing truths
Were screaming noise
Down the corridor
Unexpected
Was our passage
Toward some heaven
I had witnessed
On that trip.

– J. Pigno