I open my ever-unfastened trunk
And out falls sand-castles of summer tours
When more of hope could easily be shrunk
With lesser delusion ‘twixt my contours.
Postcards in a file marked “Love, Jennifer”,
A View-Master with reels of all I’d dreamed,
Plans that Fate returned, burned to a cinder,
And relationships more sour than they seemed.
And in the half I hold erect, are smiles
Bequeathed with every alien gesture.
Packed, too, many walks through sanguine dawn’s aisles
And many a run through verdant pastures.
All this I pack and walk out through the door
Over the threshold my trunk weighs no more.