The Box

It reminds you of the sky with all clouds concealed
as if hiding from its smell of age
Yet its unmarked skin proves different
It stands there in still silence
Paper
f
l
o
w
s
from it like the Niagara falls
as it struggles to not let
go
Some escape its delicate grasp though
But it does not bend nor move at all
Still in silence
Because it's just a box, unmoving…silent