I stand in the corner of the room
my gaze resting on scattered piles
worn denim
softest of soft t-shirts
the open closet door offers a display
of no longer needed
suits and ties.
The dresser drawers have been emptied.
Still a smattering of personal objects
strewn as if they don't know
he won't be back to slide on the
ring and watchband.
Time no longer exists for these possessions
until a new somebody
searches for treasure and takes them as their own.
These things constructed of
threads
hooks
silver and gold
paper and ink
a physical representation of a man
but his legacy is not
located here
in this room
in these things.
He lives on in beating hearts
missed everyday with the reminders
strewn about.