[This is the start
to another goodbye letter
that—if I ever actually finish—
I’ll certainly never send.

I haven’t stopped believing
that my heart
beats in rhythm
to the echo of yours
and every lover before.

That the places I leave
stay with me
hanging like a beech leaf in winter
yellow and holding
after a new bud forms.

So, yes, this may be a resignation
or the start of the means to another end.
But even when I couldn’t love you
you still let me have a friend.]

Dear California…