The hunchback in the cellar   The hunchback in the cellar admits no-one but me I bear a sheaf of ancient papers their tattered folds too brittle ever to smooth again and drifted soot obscures the marks I sensed in darkness my fingers are smutted with secrecy but Quasimodo winks and nods towards the humming red machine the rotted cord breaks with a touch I trust the magic engine which charges dust and fixes shadow to reproduce the hidden images black spiders’ ghosts against the crisp white sheets   (From a dream at Lumb Bank)   Previous haiku Next poem