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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Closet Remembers

The closet that remembers.
The shirts with the smell of wind.
How a lake wove pictures in them.
Shoes against the wall,
still talking among themselves.
How they traveled miles
in the cold,
rain sloshing against their soles.

What an adventure!
Though they never saw
how the world looked
when I scanned the street,
no more than a dreamer knows
where he goes,
or has been,
to the top of a landing
built of air.
The blanket above the shirts
put there after winter passed,
years and years.

The closet remembers
how I assemble things,
start and end a day.
The things I tire of,
wear or refuse to wear,
saying something about myself,
what I love or refuse to love,
riddles that I keep
or let dissolve,
in the things behind its door.

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