Another Life

It seems a meagre hoard
now that it is all boxed in uniform brown cardboard,
lids taped down and labelled
with square letters –

Your stuff –

And I wonder if there is any person
more lonely than me
who would care to rifle through your old books
and records, who would read your poems
late at night and find there your heart and mind,
marvel at the quickened pulse and sad smile –

Give in to love –

Know what it is to possess
the intangible objects that belonged to someone,
rendered meaningless in death,
or worse, as they resolve themselves
into a bitter totem of all that was abandoned
when you moved on, seeking another life –