Preparation

Before long we leave,

and there will remain what

will tell of us.

All that remains

will tell of us,

of our faces

welcoming the dawn

or alert in the night.

All will speak of us as we retire

to our half nights,

the other halves left

out in the garden.

We leave and our features remain,

our words

and the birds that fluttered

in our cups,

our chairs,

and the trees

speaking into baskets.

Before long we leave

and what we didn’t say

and what we have always said

will stay.

We prepare for our own absence.

We gather ourselves,

and yet all that is here

speaks of our having been.

Why then?

Is it because we depart and depart

forever leaving behind

a little of ourselves?

(9/14/1991)