Try ringing the bell when nobody’s there.
It gongs deep. You can hear
the shape of two pianos, spiral stairs, the thumbed harp
of Gabo, wheelback chairs; each plate and glass,
each stretched canvas reverberates
as your hand on the rope
hauls the house out of its dream
where a man gets up from his desk in welcome.
But the door stays black, shut, everything in place:
the bowls and charger on the mantel,
the bundled twigs in the grate, the patterned light
that fills the space he’s risen out of.
You have interrupted him now:
he can never return to his bureau
writing cheques with a fountain pen to bring
the wind-stiff sailing ships leaning in to port.