Time is an attic full of curious shapes
preserved until the moving van returns.
Then I must choose again what I will keep
and what to leave behind.
This cardboard box
contains the meaning of my life so far
collected thoughtfully against the time
I might detect a trend from yesterdays.
Before I throw it out, I’d like to find
a clue, a pattern formed from these strange shapes
relating each in a larger design.
Again I spread my puzzle on the floor
scanning each awkward piece, in the vain hope
that two will fit together
and again
I pick them up and file the box away.
