To this day
I still have
that bag
I used to keep
in an empty
closet full of
breezes and
hard glances -
or were they
waves

at
high
tide.
I'm not sure.

Now I keep it
under my bed.

Every so often
I open it.
The zipper.
I stare at the broken
zipper
for a few minutes,

and sometimes
I think
I can hear
something
stumble out.
Footsteps.

Whispers.
Voices?
So I find the courage
to look closer

inside
and each time
I inevitably
fall
before

I can
distinguish
the noises,
footsteps,
voices?

They are
here
and gone,
and I
fall
inside
each time.