Packing 

The closet shook me
Like having slipped
Into an enclave

I imagine that instead
Of this white door
Is a chestnut spiral carving
Leading in a dance
Across which I lay my long fingers

Inside, past the ancient wood
Is the memory
Of my every dream
Shining

Instead I am standing
For now
Looking at things
I forgot I owned
And what is it
I say to no one
To own
And no one answers

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