Your fingers find me in the night,I wait for small delight. A flick, a tap, a shove, instantly, I answer above. I don’t create, I just release or stop the flow and bring you peace. From guest to ghost I guard the door waiting for you once more.

I’m born from breath or soapy streams, I shimmer bright with rainbow gleams. I float on air, so light and sly, but touch me once, and I will die.

I was once fixed now set free. No one can ever again try to swing me. But in another world they would say oui, you are bound to be absolutely crazy.

The first tells jokes, of which you might laugh, wonder, or rage The second can be taking paint from a wall, or clothes on a stage If you're lucky, you can still find me on a newspaper page

I hoard forgotten treasures, dust motes dancing in my beams. My access is often treacherous, a rickety ladder's climb. I swell with heat in the summer, and contract in winter's chill, a silent witness to time's slow, relentless will.