Attics of Memory

The new brings worlds previously unimagined
Which we can now experience

The old brings worlds unexperienced
Which we can now only imagine

I started old, from earliest memories
Spent visiting oldish houses with endless staircases
Somewhere in upstate New York

Houses with attics
And old books
By people with names like
Ethel M. Dell

And the sun itself
Seemed to enjoy landing on objects
More congenial to it’s age

In old wooden dwellings of aunts and uncles

Exploring a distant past

Whose very exploration

Grows every day more distant

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