Unclaimed Baggage

A crate with no dog – and one swinging door,
a suitcase of sand – a castle no more.

A loud box of shells, clacking their tunes,
a hessian sack of long afternoons.

A chest full of dreams dug from dry land,
a clock with no time and one waving hand.

A hamper of salt-lick, crystalline skin,
a backpack of waves, still rolling in.

A waterproof bag, heavy with tide,
holding the moon and Earth inside.

A folded buggy tied up with sleep,
a tentbag of snores, piled in a heap.

A carouselled dog, leaping, delighted,
back with his team, family united.