The Satchel

What you carry into the night: your instrument, and the small remembrances the graveyard leaves lying in the grass. A few appear each night — walk over one and it's yours.

THE BAG

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Cazamuertos coins

trade at the Morning Market Window →

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Candle Stubs

wax that held a vigil

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Marigold Petals

fallen from the path home

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Resin Tears

the trees keep vigil too

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Stopped Watches

each a minute before sunrise

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Unsent Letters

the address worn to nothing

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Cold Keys

no door left that fits

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Found Photographs

a face somebody in town knows

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Still Compasses

every needle points home

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Tin Birds

wound down mid-song

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Quiet Harmonicas

the tune went with them

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Empty Spectacles

the world gone soft at the edges

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Ember Spools

Old Snast's own thread

the Window won't buy these — Old Snast wants them back

Counting…

KEEPSAKES