I watched you walk through
head toward the edge of a seacliff
into the light, a familiar silhouette
angling away from me, the long shadow
of life extending behind you,
and I thought again, no, not yet,
just as I did last year when you
made an unplanned departure,
felled by something you couldn’t
see coming, only to be returned—
kicked back to our side—to finish
what you started.
So this year, on the anniversary
of your homecoming, at a beloved
spot overlooking waves that travel
from horizon to shore, you headed
into the light through slender poles
of trees, then paused at the edge,
looked back over your shoulder
and gestured to me.
C’mon, you said without words.
Come see this.
And I followed you.