when the flowers have finally faded

and the cards have been signed all with black

and the phone is no longer ring-ringing

and the last of the boxes is packed

 

and the air is not quite overladen

with the weight of each unspoken word

we’ll emerge from the home of our childhood

and look up at the flight of the bird

 

at the sky rolling pink in the twilight

and the moon rising bright like a star

at the leaves turning gold with the dying

and the lights of our beckoning car

 

and we’ll drive ’til the trees blur together

and we’ll breathe like there’s trail left to run

and we’ll keep our eyes dry and face forward

knowing that is the thing you’d have done