A pool of water on the floor
reflecting fractured porcelain
I had not ever seen before.
Footsteps like tears lead out the door
taking with them my oxygen.

Who is it that has found this place
my sad forest of broken things?
Who takes lazy steps with such grace?
Do they know what the night will bring
that bleak and haunted carapace?

Surely, they know not of those ghosts,
or they would not ever have come,
I think and follow their breadcrumbs.
I still have a duty as host
to shake hands and bid them welcome.

Oh! If only it were that plain,
to find things in this place again!
The cracks and crevices have grown
far beyond what I can explain
None of it is yet set in stone.

The walls will move from here to there
when they think you are unaware.
The floor will find stairs if it please
and remove them with the same ease
always some laughter in the air.