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.