The tonne-heavy door,
Swings open with malice,
My house of his past,
Which I cannot recall.

The creeping stairs,
Some indecisive doors,
I know them
Not, and they recognise me.

Winding walls **** me
Into his room, of
Imitations and antiques,
The centrepiece lost.

I cry for his return,
For his wisdom, his naivety,
But I cannot hear him,
Inside my empty bedroom.