leaving

at the doorway
of longing
stands everything
that must be remade
without a plan,
where convention
douses the flame of desire,
like that jarring door-stopper
slamming the wind,
where repetition numbs
like a well-oiled hinge
without a song,
where connection
strikes and withdraws
like a gust of wind
changing the landscape
in its leaving,
where I stand close to you
with the sky between us,
holding a thread
that must give some day,
freeing another dream
born on the edge
of longing,
of leaving.