To the Lumberjack, for the Last Time

This is the last poem you get,
sirrah,
who never asked for any
in the first place.

I only showed you this once,
and only one piece,
so I suppose it's a sign of your respect
of my secrecy
you never looked further.

For all you look and smell
of earth and here
you are air,
to bluster and fly about
with care only for your path.

You were on the fringes of my life
and then you were everywhere
and then gone again;
a windstorm that left my house a mess
but one easily righted
and it's as if you never were.

So the earth will smile
to see air,
knowing it means nothing
but amitie
each time a breeze wanders through