A framed poem by Whitman written
in his own hand about how all worlds
Painting of a baby grand piano
mirroring a garden of flowers.
Water color of hinged bookshelves,
spines of every color and height
moving the eye like a flag.
Description of a kite festival
written by a 10-year-old boy.
At eight a.m. the room is already
full. Many of the patients
know each other, nod, compare lives,
all in this open boat of hope where music
becomes a garden,
a draft of words attempts
and books are closed forever, but from a distance
look like a cobbled rainbow
while a small brown boy with a red kite
hangs on to the sky of his life.