The Salon

A good room to be lost in and a good room to find what’s lost
Let the shadows seep into corners; sweep across chairs, faces and shoes;
Push into quiet places laying gray upon gray, sea and stone, life and dream
Drawn by ambiguity toward the umbra, compelled by the otherworldly palette
clothing the salon’s presiding member
A fierce hunger waits beneath the brim to devour a glance; once fed, forever held