This Slow Leave

This slow leave is a canal,

each goodbye waiting patiently.

My Spring was a system of locks,

but the pollen is past,

yellow dust baked into melty asphalt

and the goodbyes are

piling up.

This controlled leak has turned,

a waterfall of finals, salt spray on my cheeks.

My heart, a thumped out beat to mark

the break of lasts, firsts, onlys.

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