A Lesson in Farewells

there are many ways to depart
but one of the best
is by riding a rusty old bike
down the center median
of an empty road in the dead of night
under the arms of satsumas and oak
with a man's worn-in pair of shoes
poking out of the handlebar basket

most people will only see
the full moon and wriggling gas lights
a few less will see a darkened blur
and suspect you've come and gone
but a very special few will hear
your tinny, tiny bike bell chiming
good-night
good-bye
good-morning
with its single singsonging ching-ing

the fading drone note magic proof
that, yes, someone has been here
and very recently left