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Empty
Just after your departure,
I find half a hummingbird nest
and an old broken crock.
The sun comes out.
A fly circles the lip
of a purple crocus.
The kestrel hunting meadow voles
keeps returning
to the same electric line.
Poèmes sur le thème : departure
Poèmes sur le thème « departure » sur Poets.by.
Seventh
If you're not happy with my life,
Please...
Walk away.
Though I don't want to.
Alone
You left me all alone here
You left, and walked away
You left me all alone here
But it's fine
I'm used to pain
leave
everyone is leaving right now
so do you need an invitation too ?
because I'm tired of sobbing for you
hoping that you stay
when I know that you will eventually leave me and go
so leave when the times right
After Gertrude After Bob Tomaz Maruska After Francie
who they are to me
what you are
and whether i feel
will feel go on feeling
without knowing after you
are gone i am sad very sad
at your going.
these are not old nouns or new nouns shedding
but no nouns unknowing nouns
going and am i recreating
the unknowing the going of them
you leaving by saying how sad
i am not showing even what
this sadness is because not knowing
not able to know nouns going.
displacing what i am recalling
To You as Balboa, Let Us Say...
Only the missing you
pivots me.
After the words. After
you have gone naked to discover the Pacific
and I have repaired my lips
from their blood. Wishing you courage,
congratulating you on it all
bon voyage
on your trip past Molokai
It is your bone sockets how they
rocked you over me
Memory of the sea
or Rilke's 'without a tongue,
can conjure you at will'
After the words
after your offer to share the bed or
* * *
You're leaving
And I can't stop you
The Sound of the Trees
I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Fugitive
Yes, I can go. I can leave right now.
An aeroplane or train ticket
for 10 or 15 pounds of flesh and bones,
including some clothes
and some necessary domestic things,
and .... goodbye.
However, I’m not gone,
as my memories and feelings
are disobedient. They never leave,
and I can’t dictate anything to them.
So, when you see me leaving
don’t even think I’m gone.
It’s not me.
It’s just a heft of myself
escaping from fighting with me.
Fifty-Two
How I hated that bus
as it rolled me
serenely away
from you.
Forty-Eight
You offered water
in a glass, and said:
you must go.
I did; or tried —
the tide returns.
Thirty
Once we had made up
our minds that you
should leave at morning —
we each in our way
prayed dawn should never
come.