Such a dreamer,
he was going to some planetary body, he said
when no one was looking,
with that old tortoiseshell suitcase with the stickers.
He saw himself en route
bound by purpose and a strange sense of gravity.
Had packed his case with all he held dear,
significant papers and artefacts:
old perfume bottles his wife thought thrown away,
a diary or two, hand wound travelling clock,
coins he had tossed with luck,
all cherished items.
On the day he never woke up
the suitcase looked out of place under the bed,
no one knowing what to do with it
as it was really with him somewhere amongst the stars
telling its story
to those who would listen.