I have kept boxes (first quality)
with nails, a jam jar full
of keys to unknown doors

and a pile of suitcases
foundjects from mother's house
memories that have become secrets

as undescribed museum pieces
sparsely on a shelf in the shed
put away by me for later, ever

to open my past with it
when time stands still, and I
no longer find doors

to the future, only
can get lost in the present
or in the past