Any day now, after a long full life together,
you and I will have to make our last good-byes.
The part of me that won’t be able to find the words
is already moving away from you
and from the pain, stepping down the switchbacks
of feeling from a loss too steep and keen
to levels less so, then less so again.
If I try now to say Farewell
I will not reach you, won’t be understood.
I become like the crested canyon blue jay
which flies from tree to tree
behind the couples treading along a forest path,
calling out its own wilder version
of their softly-spoken Follow me, follow me.
by Therese L. Broderick