Dust motes riding sunbeams
play hide and seek,
memories flutter,
then peek through broken shutters
that hang ajar from rotted window casings.
Frightened moth-like memories stutter for release
from latticed webbings of the spidered lairs,
creating crocheted lacings,
gracing arms of threadbare chairs.
Impaled light tends dulling facets
on crackly, crystaled vases.
Faded roses crawling up the walls of hallways
reminding in a thousand small ways
attars of an essence past,
forever stored in treasured trunks.
Sprawling oaken woodwork guarding silent molding parlors
iced with time-warped faded patterns
on grimy, dusty floors,
a poignant passion for reverence of the junk.