the open box

you keep your lost sleep
in a box
at the foot of the bed.
there is a reason for each
hour, each minute
stared at the ceiling
and stored away.
new love, lost love,
work, of course,
bills and health.
the son, so far away.
your age, the age
and passing of so many
dear to you, the price
of nearly everything.
it's a deep box, unlocked,
with an open top.
it echoes with nights
gone by, there is room
for more.