Paper

I went through the files
of the last few years searching

for pieces of my life

that I was afraid would escape
if I didn't trap them in a shoebox

and slide them under my bed.

Sometimes, when I begin to fall asleep
I become something like a shrunken head

beneath the leaves of antiquity.

I am frightened by the vacant look
on my face, my hair like that of a corpse,

and stumble over the alter of my nightstand,

making an exit out the window.
I hear the rumbling of a distant thunderstorm

I hope I left my body facing north.