He took with him
A yellowing leather suitcase
Two letters
Carefully inscribed next to the wooden handle
Perhaps invisible to some
Pounded away by a hard coating of silky dust and disuse
Inside,
a silver box, welded in the shape of a heart,
reposes stiffly on top of a crackling yellow
Leaf, as fragile as water on a sharp, fall day
He took with him his scars,
like choppy waves on a windy day, as large as
a speck of dust is to a spider
He took with him
Possibility
As open and endless as a
Bookshelf filled with Dust
He left behind his blood
On the white wall behind the couch
scrubbed off by a sponge
almost
And possibility
As open and endless as a bookshelf filled with
dust