Leaving Home

First I say goodbye to the insects
The sad roses and old books
And draw a cloth down
Over my head
To honor the day
Which is still unformed
Like certain bird throats
Like clouds approaching infants
I say farewell
Because trust
Is a clear nothing
Hoarding somewhere
Many treasures
Do you hear the post horn?

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto