Though it is more hotel than home,
The hermit crab shell from 1750
Embossed with a name that's familiar,
And the tavern serves real grog
And the pewter shines like it can't anymore.
Everything is imagination, the entire encounter
With the props and sets and characters
Who walk through our camera eye
As we frame, frame, frame
And brighten and dim
At the margins
Until eventually we become
What we see,
The thing we have looked at so long
It has, by gaze alone, gained value,
The worth we've taken from us
By way of service.
