Stairs rattle
on the way up
to fill a coffee cup, ink
and batteries for the oracle.
Every tier is parallel
to four skeleton legs
where they tread,
silver with disease,
slowly eroding,
as the top of the staircase remains untouched
however desperate the stride.
This sun god mythology
serves only to undercut
a wilting Inca sky
under which rising flares
one cream one gold
peel the cracking heels
from steps caked
with buttercups.