Saying goodbye (again)

Saying goodbye (again)

Morning full of light,
bright as summer,
dew deep and damp,
silence of woodpeckers, a tractor,
dog-bark.

We walk, sniff the smells.
Listen. Deer in the trees.
So much, the world is full,

yet I carry a weight that lies dull,
filling the space beneath the ribs,
rising to fill the throat
with what feels like the choking of tears.

There is always a space at my side,
in the air too light and transparent,
sometimes one, sometimes another,

but too many leave-takings,
too many receding futures.

Why is it easier to believe in improbabilities,
than the easy words spoken,
see you soon?