You can see the genius in the handwriting,
Meticulously cluttered,
Like an attic closet lost for a century.
The dry must is blown off the yellowed envelopes,
All eyes widen with delight.
Back in the day,
It was known as "correspondence,"
Hand-written and soul-bared.
The wonders of the Universe,
Revealed,
Wax seals that had partly re-stuck,
Grudgingly giving up their sleeping secrets.
It was all tales of love,
Love with a mystical beauty un-bound by our petty rules,
Cosmos was her name.
Nicola gave us an adoring view under her skirts.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/11/2017
Rembrandt Sleeping, poem #26