I plan tomorrow’s move,
journey to my next future.
Boxes climb the walls like tendrils

of overlooked ivy. Roses inch up
the trellis outside
the back door. All this growth

twenty-five summers
hoeing choke weed,
gardening back bent to the soil.

In later years, curved unable
to straighten. Time whittles
the past.

Token whistles sound the call
to let it go. How to say farewell
to Julie, my daughter, whose death

has already changed my future.
Too many holes in its trajectory,
life unseen, dreams unsaid
baffle a different ending.

The past, a galloping horse,
heedless of rutted byways—
races ahead.

Too many goodbyes
circle like eagles flying
from aeries impossible to reach.

Child, you are my galloping horse
frozen to the past.