Thanks Dave.

Two years in we find a cellar

Buried under the moving earth, all that's visible
is the keystone of an arch and the sound
of a hollow filled with dirt. It awaits
its purpose; is poised empty of ideas.

Like a beaming photograph that lasts beyond
its context, its hollows and conversations
are long gone. We need plants, now, to fill it.
We need history but we are all running out.

There have been deaths here; there have been
deaths everywhere if you are looking. Deaths
in clothes, in streets, in shoes and rooms.
This cellar had them but they are lost.

Bring your deaths and music. We will tap our feet
along to whatever you play, planting rhythms
and roots for the cellar to cling to. There is nothing
more fearful than a house without ghosts.