Missionary Transfer

Ten toots of a whistle,

Five waves of a hand,

Three clicks of a shutter and you’re gone.

The days and weeks,

The mornings and evenings,

The failures, the triumphs,

The oneness

Are strings of confetti in the water,

Slowly fading to gray,

to white,

to nothing in the patient sea.

Marks scratched in a dusty black book are all I

have now;

The ghost of a man

Who once was half my mind.