at the top,
running upstairs,
I hear a quail,

turn my head
to glimpse the bird
though the window

but fall — nearly,
a sudden arc
backwards

into space
but grasp,
to grace

hold, hold
to the rail, heart
startles

fifteen steps down
I gasp to it — 
fly back to me.

Photo by Jose Luis Pita Rioz on Unsplash