On the steps outside of music class You taught me how to jump through time. The wrought-iron handrails, Your grip so tight— Tiny feet stuck on those stone steps That looked wet even in the sun. I wish. I still wish I could clutch you forever— You felt so light. What you didn't ask for, What I didn't know: As you hung frozen in the air, our arms outstretched on either side of the looking-glass— the squeals of fear, the rush of you. We each climbed one step higher, And you asked to do it again And again.