What Wasn't There

I walked into the hallway,

Saw a painting on the stair

That filled half the wall and all the house

And showed what wasn’t there.

A man sat in the painting

A pile of books by his chair

The titles were illegible

And spoke what wasn’t there.

I steeped lightly to the riser

Made no more noise than I dare

For that man listened intently

And heard what wasn’t there.

My hands caressed the frame

Carved with craftsmanship and care

My fingers explored the canvas

And felt what wasn’t there.

And so I took the picture

From that hallway cold and bare

I carry it round with me

It shows what isn’t there.