All night there was an echoing on the concrete.
The city birds. Their spirits bouncing.
There was a ticking, lapping dog
on the wall.
There was a bead of sunlight on the bed,
a mark for death.
Out in the woods,
there a light, warm spring breeze;
purpled the grass.
I write them here to recall them to my senses,
I’m never ever again trading in goodbyes.