As a child I wore goodbyes
to hold me in slow motion
so that tears would out run me.
I couldn’t understand
the function of seven little letters.
But without them I couldn’t breathe.
With goodbye came the loneliness
a monster of hands and gestures.
Goodbye doesn’t mean see you later.
It doesn’t have a happy ending.
Goodbye is stunting the sunlight as it stalks clouds,
And pulling the shades on your dress
Riddled with mud fights and daisy chains.
It is the dark horse that charges
my dreams, the hooded rider
that carves out the last glance