I sit near the window in the diner,
wrap hands around a warm white mug,
and gaze back
across the boulevard to the hospital,
aware that this day’s solo wait
for my love
is an early drill of things to come.
Aware that as sure as winds sweep
riotous autumn leaves from the trees,
as sure as migrating geese
wing their way out of sight,
today’s wait during a routine screening
will one day be a journey into loss,
sweeping us down a final dusty road,
lifting, carrying us away,
beyond the horizon.