Ballast or log, significance
or waste, all of me
that I have kept

because I don't know what I want
to save, every day I am busy
living and I just let it rest

I've put all my stuff out of the way
the books I'll never read again
the old pictures, the crayons

a chair and beautiful puzzles
all of me that's passed
neatly stowed away

in labeled boxes
but without any importance
whether they contain anything