How to Find a Lost Grave

Whisper, ‘Show!’ to hinge and hollow, for latches know the dead,
Knock twice upon a table’s heart, and hear the path its grain has said.

A flambeaux bright that never lights, is wise to shadow’s grammar,
Yet will not teach of buried names whilst hidden by its caul of glamour.
Crack’d, a stained-glass window’s hiss,
Will spell in vowels of glass, a mist.
Come dawn, the latch bites back its breath,
To guard what should be hidden.