The creaking of an attic’s chest
which contains the stories of a previous life
hidden as dusty almanacs.
Rummaging hands find leather covers –
life to the memories forgotten.

Camping near the lake with the adolescent,
discovering myself as I discover others.
Tents with cloth as thin as skin tightly stretched
across metal bones, inhabit the forest.
A place to sleep among quiet heart beatings.

Susan outlined against the campfire
Breasts hard lumps, hips gaunt, hair kinky.
Her face frightened,
startled, fearful -- fascinated.
I fade into solid night to hide my shame.

Stories are told when warmly enclosed,
tethering my imaginations to the moon.
I no longer fear the dark, but find it comforting.
I surrender my head to a magnificent world.
while crickets instrumentalize forthcoming sleep.

Close this box and hide the pages
that must be forgotten to embrace the present:
Bright light and grimy windows
seeping air into the void of my mind.
Locking ribs together, closing off my beating heart.

Keeping me alive.