he walks softly down the hall
pausing only long enough to stare
at the empty piece of wall
and pictures no longer there

he traces his hands softly
gently stroking an invisible face
that he had memorised so fondly
but disappeared without a trace

he ghosts down to the bedroom
tripping over spectres of the past
as one might perhaps presume
he takes each step as his last

it still all looks the same
nothing has been touched
trails of nothing refuse a name
inelegantly scribbled in the dust

stepping back, not turning around
ghosting past the missing frames
on a wall as empty as broken ground
just waiting for the remains