Moving on
Is that what it is?
Just transitioning to newer pastures,
Leaving the old behind?
How many unconditional gifts,
Full and free and magnanimous,
Have I myself left behind–
Forgotten, untended,
(Like opened boxes of chocolates,
unfinished, inexhaustible)
Left behind as I moved on?
What happens to the gifts?
Do they remain mine–
Standing, as I left them,
Open and waiting?
Or do they move on, too?