I want to say goodbye, I do.
That is all I can think of as the car
arrives to take you away forever. I want
to say goodbye, but cannot.

My throat rejects the two
bitter syllables, my tongue refuses to form them.
This can’t be goodbye. Not after all these years,
not on an ordinary day like this.

The weather ought to do
something dramatic. It is an unpleasantly nice day.
We are deprived of the dignity the rain gives to a
goodbye. Perhaps that is why

I can’t say it. A significant part
of me is in your possession; parts of you will be
a part of me forever. We are cruel to degrade those
parts by attempting a proper

goodbye on a day like this.
We should have waited for the rain. I thought we
would. I was hoping the drought would last forever.