Green Light on the Old Steps

For climbing stone steps no one remembers laying, testing each moss-covered tread before trusting it. The edges are worn round, and every step lifts the damp smell of green. You trace an old mark carved into one stone; it keeps its meaning to itself. A gut-string lute lowers a four-note figure softly while a small harp and muted cello hold it from below. The piece is divided into three spans by short, nearly empty pauses — the same pauses you take to catch your breath between steps.