somewhere we set down our pens and seal the last stamp
before blessing the hands that carry our thoughts
one final time.
Again, our tails form crosses in the sky
and we leave behind imprints of ourselves
to join the moments that will never be born--
so ghosts that were may plan for the ones
that never will be--the dreams of distant days
before I was me.
Comfort yourself
that something of the air I breathed
will breath in you;
something of the scenes I saw,
you'll see;
something of the ground I walked
will know your feet--
and it would seem as if you were me.
We step into new waters,
with unpredictable tides
tumulted by winds and floods.
I give you no words now,
but premonitions of what I may be
and the assurance that--whatever
our crosses--
you may always be a part of me.
