I dwell on goodbyes.
Not for the person leaving, the feeling afterwards.
The two night return on a whim
the loss of a close friend
the birth of a daughter.
The dwelling on the future that is inevitable
on the brink of return
he’ll linger
maybe he sees the same future
the one of two barbecues a year
the wedding of his sister
burying the family dog.
He wants to stay, (he needs to)
the fortune assigned in his cookie
drags him away into an olive life
under a plum bush
deep underground
holding himself.
He’ll leave
but he’ll be back
because no one ever leaves
The Fun House Mirrors.
Saint's Muse 
Great piece.
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