A bird in backward flight

I am not what you see
but where I have been,
not what you hear
but what I have felt, not
what you touch but who
I have known

Deep in my closet hides
a shoebox of loveletters
from men whose lives
I shared. All that I was
was in those letters,
and in that box
I had slept.

Finally settled
until a cool wind prompted:
"after a last glance
over your shoulder
migrate once more."

I am not only the sum
of my years but
of memories, and letters
yet to write.

Copyright: 08/16/98, Carl Morton