"Untitled" - 2/6/2018

"Untitled"

Secrets stocked up -- under
lock and key, they rot
in plies, forgotten
by all except me, the
secrets turning to dust,
dust only I could see,
dirt only I could name.

Open them up.
Sort through the attic,
the dust floating in the light
as little angels in the sun
to descend on old letters,
old poems, but the letters
are just memories.
The old poems are
promises broken in the dark.

Sometimes they flood out
like darkness at sunset,
filling the air in a great rush
of black. I reach out to grab
them before they
slither off into night, I
gather them to my chest,
hear pounding between my ribs
to keep them secret.
Secret.
I make them dust.

I stock them up
under lock and key. They rot
in their solitude, abandoned,
not forgotten. I let them
turn to dust only I saw,
dirt I named.