The title escapes me.
I try to put it in its box -
on that shelf above the door,
in the room I never open,
because I lost the key too many moons ago...
I can't label it.
It defies logic or love
It is organic and never static
Why won't it stay still and fester?
It needs to be still!
locked away to protect it from my self
Worth - more than I hoped and feared less than it should.
I'll climb in the box instead - hidden from view and light -
waiting for the label to fall from the sky --
and try to make sense of the organism of hope
that has yet to makes sense of me.