To sit without entertainment
or reason beforehand
and then to turn away
and go elsewhere,

to go to a spring in a surprising ledge and drink
ice-cold water and not care about
origins or what it might be bringing
into you.

There are reasons to go
into nearby woods as if there was
nothing to worry about: after all,
there isn’t.

Anyone could pass there
and not be found until too late
for anyone to care more than
a little bit;

other than wringing their hands
over your disappearance, other than
searching for you and then
abandoning that search

and letting you be, leaving you
to be a sweet pang of sadness;
other than that, why not
let you be? It won’t matter,

after all, to you; it won’t matter
after a small time to those
who knew you. In a crisp
New England summer,

in a not unexpected twist,
you’ll be gone. Your loved ones
will turn away after a bit
and leave you there, as you wished.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T