Leaving

looking for a place to be, to stay
looking for a something
words can't say -
the eye, the lungs, the hand
a different land, different Spring
in the stepping
way of going
paved with history but showing
new intent is willing
to try again before
death intervenes - who is keeping
score of the doors'
revolving?  did you see me come -
see me go -
before all that was left is
movement and a
fragrance in the air?
What moves your soul's star?
by what do you steer?
these words like footsteps
ringing in her ears
were the only swansong.
she left behind her silence
once she had gone.

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