After the Museum Closes
Dust
hush
doors close
glass holds breath
coins sleep in darkness
a bird waits behind the label
children will point to the bones and ask who once lived here
Moon
gone
map folds
rivers fade
ink remembers kings
roads once drawn in red disappear
someone left a thumbprint where the old border once stood
Name
keeps
one light
under glass
the whole room falls dark
the labels outlive the hands here
and one fingerprint refuses to become history
