by Matthew Kenneth Kosak
So come now, what will you do here
that has not yet been done before?
What new tricks might you play?
from beneath a well worn sleeve?
What will come of this tired mansion made of objects of the past?
Trials of the past, like a breeze tossing in the curtains,
a burning desire, kept now safely against cold stone walls
It is the white hot optimism
that burns at the edges of clouds.
You've seen it in those photographs I took,
once while I watched you play nimbly, with a flower stem betwixt your thumbs.
It was a Saturday, the eleventh of May...