How to say goodbye
to a place
who will no more notice you are
than it took notice of your arrival?
How to leave one’s imprint
in between your stones
or in the current of that great river
I grew to love?
we hope to live on:
in the minds,
of those we knew,
in the pennies thrown wishfully
into Bismarck’s fountains,
and in the tattered cardboard box
of possessions sitting in a cool dark cellar
in a house atop a hill facing North,
patiently awaiting my return?