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The Sunday Poem: DeparturesOctober 5th, 2008 |
Life is made of departures:
The passage from the dark
The moment of weaning’s sharp
Longing, frantic gestures.
Balloons slipping out of hands.
A dog’s last stiff-legged sleep.
Kisses in a closet, the deep
Fear there, the moments grand.
The move from maiden name
And the way she feels once
Delivered. A man who hunts
Regrets, and finds just blame.
Life is made of departures
And occasional desperate returns
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“…A man who hunts
Regrets, and finds just blame.”
My favorite line in this poem.
Although the couplet at the end resonates strongly as well…