Inside, a leaf rests,
its veins flushed with color,
its hollow shaped like a heart
that opens to the quiet.

Beside it, words settle in,
as if they were always waiting
for this companionship,
leaning into the same light.

There are photographs layered here...
a feather caught in its descent,
stones burnished by touch,
morning light spilling its golden lines
across the floor of memory.

The chest holds all that is precious 
to my quiet heart:
the colors of a day held close,
the way attention makes beauty sing,
the dance between image and word,
Braided into one breathing thing.

When I lift the lid, 
it greets me with memories of wonder,
the feeling of belonging,
the tender certainty
that this is home.