I wanted to stay behind in September
on the desert, this faded beach.
I wanted my meals to be
the ashes of my false cranes.
To hold the heavy wind in my hair
like water asleep in fishing nets.
Alone by the muscular sea,
I wanted to smoke a cigarette that
glared more than the moon.
I wanted to watch time move –
one hand in the trees and
the other in the greying sands.
But it seems I’m meant for stage goodbyes.
I’m meant to wrench myself from places
when my soul isn’t ready,
just as I walk away from love
while I still love.