Endings

Instead of nostalgic endings we dive away from one another
Towards lunch restaurants, or distant cities
Whose bridged rivers connect and divide us.

In the morning the vans come
And our hugs are the ritual
Of kicking the dust off of sandal soles,
Of trading beneath ourselves one earth for another.

If it is an abrupt event, so much the better,
For the morning heat spreads through the streets
Like nothing ever happens,
Like seasons cycle outside of passion or meaning.

Goodbye to friends once again;
The end sneaks up on us roughly,
It passes and again we must begin.