Out of the box

22/100

       100 poems/52 weeks challenge’ 2018

I was born in an empty box
and laid in it
like a sleeping man in his grave,
but soon I could play
and even watch the stars
from the fourth wall,
of a cat’s noonish dream.

A man sidestepped upon it once
and stood upon me
like a tall shadow upon the moon
and so the box tore away;
I stood naked in the wind
and the stars were brighter
than I had ever seen before.

Soon the night surmises
the lapse of people without boxes,
And so you begin again
create emptiness within emptiness,
like a form of winter clothing.

But what are we
if not terribly stripped
–in this brittle time–
of boxes and cycle-ends.

I have clothed myself
in an unraveling,
when a man told me of a house of boxes,
but one without a roof;
The stars are lakes again,
dark angels
that will always fall in the night,
what of your house then
and what of my boxes.

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