A dead tree plank—
I guess I was sad it went away,
But at the same time,
It offered firewood,
A source of energy,
Of light,
Of campfire warmth.

What will my absence bring?
Will the weight of my leaving shift the earth?
Will my presence,
Removed,
Mean anything at all?

I notice things, I guess.
I motived the evasion—
The silent evasion,
The less-than-gentle encounters.
Ask me why I let things pass?
Because when I leave,
I have no regrets,
No reason to turn back
And think I didn’t give my best.
This is my goodbye.

The tangle of my words, my head—
Let me answer that:
It won’t.
It won’t change a thing.

Another tree will grow there,
Fresher, finer,
Casting the same shade I once gave.

And though I cannot stop myself,
The shade I offered,
The loud, the silent comfort—
Is easily replaced
By a shrub.