U’s it (or L*se it)

The room is just

As I left it

. . .

A read riot

of

toys gathering dust

. . .

–that coats my skimming hands

and engraves

my barefoot soul

–already hopping—

to

Let Go…

Things are missing now

–but maybe missing then

. . .

The rhyming puzzles

–short on edge pieces,

which is funny since

I seem to remember a surfeit of just such pieces–

(Though not what they looked like)

The imagination colors

–an aMaZing box of 94!

Dwindled to…ohhh…

maybe 57 at best

–my favorite colors melted into the carpet by the window–

where the sun spilled in all summer long

–the summer too hot to play outdoors—

And the alphabet blocks

–with which fantastic words were spelt—

are chipped and worn

–particularly I

Oddly doubled

–in the case of C

And absent

–referencing U

(but I rearrange a few anyway, cobbling meaning from the jumble)

True,

the inspiration tablet

seems permanently

Etched

With a Sketch

both clumsy and unfinished,

but if I shake it really hard

the darker images

Fade

–enough; they fade well enough–

and concentrating

on the third of the screen

yet remaining,

I twist knobs

with the one hand,

and absently

start constructing another house

–of cards?

–of Lincoln Logs?

–of Dreams?

With the other.