A Small Box In a Closet Corner

It began with a search for the wooden pencil holder

        and evolved (or grew?) into a rediscovery of

    friendships and kindness both past and still present

I read letters handwritten to me, with care and thoughtful intention, that rare, golden piece, 

and I re-encountered myself

like holding up to the light many old photographs of myself

or slowly looking at many small mirrors that

kindred hearts held up for me then

and now

for love never really dies

there was a freshness in each letter, each handwritten word,

as if some invisible body led me to re-read each scribbled 

sentence, in each unique handwritten style and curve

to hear, once again, the long forgotten

song of myself.