Someone's mother packs his suitcase: socks with a windstorm and a host of dry leaves. Your uncle's suitcase? Rolling bottles, cheap-ass gin, half a glazed doughnut he completely forgot. I had a suitcase I was taking to the fair. I filled it with roses; bumblebees nosed the sweetness within. A suitcase may be a box of girl scout cookies, or a turtle returning to the river after laying her eggs, a suitcase like ribs holds a cramped beating heart, let's hear it for the suitcase asleep in the attic, a suitcase packed with snow, a suitcase harboring six rag doll clowns, (they come alive at night) a suitcase overcome with the cries of feuding sparrows, a rolling suitcase in which one old man touches the jowls of his hangdog penis, suitcase of hammers and suitcase of fingers, blue injured nails, ladybird suitcases fly away home. Let me lift your suitcase, we'll walk past the station we'll take out our shovels — oh love on the shore we'll at last dig a grave, all our luggage filled and carried away with the sea.