Mothballed,

Mothballed,
IN bits and pieces, memories,
I WISH were forgotten. Cast into
Estuaries outward flowing. Outward
Bound, these boxes filled with knicks
and knacks and bits and bytes of some
Clackings of another time.

I created them, marked them once, tags
OF color, of importance. This IN hope
That the stagnancy with it has GONE.
Drawn away, eschewed sideways in
To the bins of disregard. Dumped,
To: Be Forgotten. Like broken bodies
Post disaster, tagged in order of importance
Or. Tagged as lost causes.

Until, unexpected,
Sun bright morning awakened, I
Realize to keep the fog from welling up,
Again, I need them. The knicks and knacks,
The tracks of the cotton balls, the dusty
Wings of moths flown away, unnested.
Tagged for oblivion.

I,
Had thought my plan superb. How
Laughable I find it now. That the
Faint clarity of fog lifting attained through
Shoving garbage downstream was Fear
And not strength.

Now, I need them. My lonely castaways.
My fogged burden bearers.
To reconcile that which I am from that
Which I had imagined,
Which I had forgotten.

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