bags

there are a dozen empty bags in my room,
various sacks in khaki and black
i can’t describe that well because i can’t remember
when i bought them or even last touched them.

i know i bought each one
to put stuff in,
stuff i needed.

i keep filling new bags
with stuff from previous bags, but
i secretly love best the bags
that have been tossed aside
in favor of new ones.

the only way i can fall in love
is when i have moved on.
the only way i can love anything
is if i’ve put it in the past.