Fill the antique parlor as we
Sit at an old wooden table
Reading each other's poetry.
And we think ourselves quite the hosts;
Even as they loom over us
We are unaware of these ghosts
In attendance at our seance.
But behold! Here are novelists
And poets and biographers
And readers and writers — artists
Of all kinds who — indeed — tower
Over us — in all ways... Yet we
Ignore them — deny their presence --
If — unconsciously — — lest we see
Them with their papers and their pens.