A Temporary Spot

“. . . travelled . . . .”
- E.E. Cummings

When you go out of doors there is the spring
Giving up your attachment to the absence
How pretty things are when you stop you notice
We went about the world as if it were
Forgetting that it might have had a purpose
Again in time you might come to think that
One could begin by finishing what’s left
It’s been quite a while since whatever happened
Whatever it was we knew it could go
Even if it had never been announced
You could not be bothered to try to change
As before you thought when it would not end
It may not be at all as if each time
Courting still only what appears to be