Move before the walls tighten, go before you’re asked to leave. Breathe in that old t-shirt one last time, the one that still holds a faint remembrance of a past lover’s scent. Say your Pagan prayer as you lay it down over the yellow burn of split pine and watch your spirits dance to one more song — twisting and flowing up the flue, whispering their final, dissipating goodbyes before joining the ocean that waits to greet them beyond the stack’s order.
