A First of Many Goodbyes (Poem)

We came in late October,

When your sun was beginning to soften her face, and

When your winds were beginning to blow in from the North.

Your arms were not stretched out then,

But neither were they crossed.

We came and we sat for a while,

On wooden chairs, and stony paths, 

On bridges that lay beside grumbling waters, and in

The trains that snaked their way through your belly.

You did not try to prove yourself.

We were the ones who had to show that we belonged,

If only for a while.

Then the wheel turned, and tipped, and 

Now we stand near the end.

Like lizards now, battered from those frozen months,

We lie in your grass, and make sure that we 

Take some of your sun back with us.
To show the folks back home, of course.
All those questions of belonging have died now,
Leaving us at peace with our stories, and our photos.
What we hear now are voices over voices, and 

The hushed sound of new trees.

Month after month

Our ears were tickled with accents from distant lands,

Not so distant any more, and 
Month after month,
We wanted you to let us dance to your music.

But the old drums are beating louder now, and the waves

Have made their way over the waves
 From those places that we left behind.

Au revoir, we must now say, for

It seems to me that one seriously needs

 To consider returning home,

When one has acquired the habit

Of drinking coffee from a bowl.