Wild sings the bird of the heart in the forests of our lives. - Mary Oliver

And now you'll be telling stories
of my coming back
and they won't be false, and they won't be true
but they'll be real

If I had another life
I would want to spend it all on some
unstinting happiness.

I would be a fox, or a tree
full of waving branches.
I wouldn't mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.

Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish question.

There was only myself
and the world,
and it was I

who was leaving.