TENANTS

Sometimes he touches a wheel and the wheel cries out
"So angry! Where was all this anger born?"
Or his foot snubs against a rock which asks
"What is it that has made you so sad?"
But mostly he does not know he is angry
Does not know he is the very father of grief.
His anger has grown so tall, his grief so clever
He cannot see them or that they've filled his house
So he  lives now in the attic, stowed away
Among cobwebs and mice and housegods.

GHOSTS

Every empty theater's ghosts believe that they
Were once the Lord Chamberlain's Men.
On a ruined stage at midnight try whispering
"Hoi! Burbage; art deaf? -- that was your cue!"
Some burly shade is sure to conjure himself up
Out of rust and cobwebs,out of echoes,
The memory of a prop sword at his hip.