She’s checking the luggage again, buckling up.
The boyfriend starts the little red Cavalier,
hangs a left at the corner: They’re out of here,
they’re off to college.
You let a small sigh slip,
and turn, as I thought you might, a quick half-step,
to fold with me. You shake with loss, with clear
sweet sorrow, with letting go.
I read, once, we’re
identical to rings, our prototype
the torus, gullet and skin a single map,
one surface, continuous.
than any topology, but I would swear
I’ve seen, somewhere in you, that glimmering shape
the soul must have, a loop of pure bright hope
scattering daughters to the ringing air.
© Jack Butler