There are no goodbyes, maudlin mental snapshot
because the last time comes and goes unmarked
unselfconscious of its own solemn slot;
just an idle stroll, boredom, the car parked
on a whim on the corniche, no special spot
or significant trajectory earmarked -
this I did here for the last time - caught
between synapses before anything sparked.
Years later, some banana yellow sunshine
not the same, but with a vaguely poignant slant
retraces steps along a waterline
and there must be a reason, but it can’t
recall spectacular whys. That the last time?Did it fall so quiet, unnoticed, so offhand?