I dreamt the container came back empty

I was standing at a port in the rain, watching a container roll off the dock—no label, no seal, just open like a mouth. I reached in and found it full of old receipts, train tickets from 2013, a single sock with a hole in the heel. The foreman said, 'It wasn’t lost. It was waiting.' I woke up wondering if that’s how customs work: not as systems, but as rituals. Like something had to be returned before it could be forgotten.