In the creeping hours of the morning

Under a dim downlight glow

A cardboard box

Smoothed over with packing tape

Emerges from the darkness

If only we could take with us

Our mosaic of memories

How can we be sure if

These curtains will fit new windows

These bowls will feed more mouths

Around midnight

When the box truck comes to rest

It sounded like a Kodak

rewinding

I wished it were all a picture