This simple cathedral of praise.

How you made, from the bottom up,

Is for you to remember

Of Andromeda. What remains

Until you meet the ancient light

With your sight you can keep ascending

Its final transformation into space.

And uphold

The horizon’s urge to sculpt the sky

Puts into relief

Your family’s mountain land

Upon the rising air. In the distance

A windward falcon is open high and steady

Far above the tallest tree

Just beyond your height.

You see a young pine lifting its green spire

By raising your eyes

Out onto the roof deck.

You pass through sliding glass doors

And up to where the stairway ends.

To the top of the penultimate stanza

Past the second story,

But now you’re going the other way,

Line by line, to the bottom of the page.

A force that usually pulls you down,

Of moving against the gravity of habit,

While trying not to notice the effort

And feel what it’s like to climb stairs.

- Ruth Porritt