Thought Museum

Old photo albums
take breath upon a stage of sounds
each syllable a different shape,
giving form to flat surfaces.
Life through cells of sounds---
rhythmic pulses
picture a memory transformed
by tone.
The flow of words upon lines
like waves to my senses
back files in my mind--
remember the calloused fingers of Papa
the smell of dying Christmas trees,
the soft square sleeve of a lover retreating,
Through words I live
they are the sanctuaries of the soul,
the temple's testaments
and the visionary's passion.