the last leg

there's something
about the last leg
of every journey,
where I must go it alone,
where dear friends
stand by arches,
with wistful eyes,
and clenched byes,
where lights fade
into a depth-less blur,
wrenched by a love
that cannot be named,
where details dissolve
into insignificance,
like ants scurrying
along a dead carcass,
where voices deaden
into a breathtaking silence
that devours me,
where my skin comes alive
with the faintest touch
of a breath
lingering over eons,
calling me
by my true name,
when I am pulled
into oblivion
by something
that tugs the navel
from within,
and beyond....
yes, that last leg
with no endpoint,
where I am
entrenched,
yet utterly alone.