A bleary eyed goodbye, the last of them all,
Leaves me to pick at the scaley remainder of parting sentiments,
That murmer below the baby wail birth of adventure,
That scar, and snag painfully from time to time.
Through shallow dusty windows,
I crane my neck to watch the land recede.
Nostalgia, gratitude, fear and best wishes
- fit awkwardly the glass speech bubble, fooling noone.
Wanting to encapsulate, yet bound to be free,
Scattering their ashes, I cross the folding sea.
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