tune to the house’s pitch
where plaster ends and brick peeks through shadow
or hemlock studs undress their strength
where fingertips can trace the eroded paths of the workman’s adze
the recesses where old fancies nestle in amber
who is so barricaded as not to love nooks
discreet witnesses to mischanced architecture
a breach in the strokes of a moldering blueprint
the refuge of the too low side table, the too flared vase
of a superfluous panel from a disregrarded antique
where expelled truths go to sulk
household gnomes busk for recognition
generational secrets cross the stage
discarded personalities beckon
while your center settles there
spirits whisper ceaselessly to your core