Everything
You ever gave me
Is hidden in a box
On my nightstand,
Or hung up in my closet.
A dozen letters
Stuffed away with
Pressed flower bouquets.
A jacket or two,
Mixed in with my clothes.
A pair of boxer briefs,
A mix CD,
A journal,
A photo.

A photo.

The smallness of it all,
The way our life fit
So neatly
Into that tiny little box,
And disappeared.
Apparitions, at most.

Apparitions whose weight is apparent;
A honey-sweet kiss on my cheek
The remnants of touch
Ghosts are real
And they all look like

A dozen letters
Stuffed into a box,
Pressed flower bouquets,
A pair of boxer briefs,
A mix CD,
And a photo.

A photo.