The Last

after the last

the work is done

the job complete

but somehow

not yet over

weight lifts

from your shoulders

but renewal

is now elsewhere

for someone else

the first morning is slow

with black coffee

and jam spread

thinly on toast

and in the days that follow

silence fills

the astronomical twilight

with a gray fog

of gratitude

of regret

you listen for morning birds

unseen in the trees

at the edges of your gardens

wait for them to resume their songs

fill in the lyrics

with words that arrive

from a place of memories