Even here, where carpenters took account of each step, the stairs stretch up and away at impossible angles. I am awake, yes? Yes.
The whole thing's untenable, and yet I will take the first step while chatting on the phone and wondering if I can beat the elevator to the next floor. I don't think about what the staircase is doing.
Its confusion hangs together, holding itself against the weight of my gaze, a wobbly puzzle of disparate intersections that surely cannot hold my body, but here I am, up the staircase, bound for another floor, and nothing's collapsed.
Reality knits itself around corners moments before we arrive.
I am dreaming.