Gone are the glory days
Where we could set the caged bird free,
Look together at how far our roads paved,
Breathe in the songs they carved out for us on that tree.
I don’t want to always write lines
That end off with words so robust;
I can’t always expect constellations to be aligned
Nor reckon that cities would be named in memory of us.
Will this merely be a sojourn at where you are?
Perhaps this is going to be a parable
Of splendid ephemerality, then
upon my sleeve I shall hang my heart
And be able
To say only a temporal “see you, when…”