Bruce McRae

The day I walk away
I shall be walking toward the east.
It will have rained that morning,
a fine warm mist,
the city going about its business,
the city a machine for living,
a wasps' nest of subtle industry.

That day, the day I walk away,
the universe will continue
evolving and expanding.
The spinning Earth will carry me
a good part of the way
to where it is I'll be going.
I think the breeze will be
especially inviting and summery,
rustling the maples' leaves,
tussling bunting and banners.
There'll be wind chimes tinkling too,
like water, like faraway laughter.

But not today.
This is not the day I walk away.
There's too much gravity
to consider, for one thing.
Too much wine in the jar.
Too many reasons to stay behind
and court the roses.
Which grow so plentifully
I cannot count them.