I Am A Box (Poetry)

I am a box that keeps its lid on
my heart’s a deep dark vault
whose lock cannot be jemmied by
the odd opportunist thought

At night when thieves go prowling
through my ruined-city dreams
they find what’s not worth keeping
so take nothing by all means

While memory’s a fickle gaoler
who gathers shifty secrets safe
files grey cells aged thin as paper
a dull catacomb of waste

No fingerprints disturb the record
layered dust spread thick as balm
so contained the ghosts sleep quiet
thus the past can do no harm