Leaving
but for where?
I hardly know
from what?

'tis not a point of departure
but that something
too heavy
a burden to bear

the weight of self
life's obtrusion
and oppression
its wear and tear

time is the sentinel
here, there, everywhere
the busybody that intrudes
it has no conscience neither does it care

whether the moment
is the exit or entry
never in agreeable juxtaposition
with the brittle human condition

leaving then should I again say
for no destination, for nowhere
but sure to be homeward-bound some obscure day
a hiatus-- what next of life is there to share?