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.