What was lost is a restless ghost, drifting through foyers of its unassuming host, hoping the grand hall shall be accessible once more Burgundy stands a fine filler, a contrast to the emptiness. Creaks speak with alabaster, peaking at midday. Art Deco kept hostage. The nursery undisturbed— nanny tugs The camera agrees to tell a different story. Now here we are, at cliff edge, claiming the sea our salvation. Yet its waves, its winds, its messages tell us otherwise What was nameless is a cherry for a mind to harness. The season to pluck is at hand One yank, and it pleads mercy, beads of anguish crowning its regal, red, transparent form Poignancy, a broken lens, salvaged from a plaintiff auction of posers Who could grant it mercy? Sent to the hull of tumbles, it lands before the haunted hand can ever rise to be a bolster