To Leave

[Ex Tempore XXX]

The smell of dusk is all about me and
a sea of reddish amber floods this final scene.
All I wish now is to go as well as I came:
with my heart clean and
not one regret to shackle me down.
I gave and I have given, but
I do not have any more left to give.
My mind is worn at the seams,
my sinews have hardened—I ache, how I ache—,
and I am weary, too weary for any more.
What comes after the day? The night,
I have been told, and then a new day.
What lies beyond the hill?, through the
glade?, across the unending sea?
Somewhere, I am told, and
beyond that, some place else.
It does not matter: the where.
It does not matter: the how.
They only matter, the when and why.
So one deep breath in—for courage,
the only sustenance needed—and
I cut the cord and place one foot
forward.

M.M. — December MMXII