Your call like a trainwhistle sets me running;

I will weep no more by waters.
And there, on the other side, I will reach down

to pick up a handful of sand from the riverbed.

The gum branches rustling behind my back

and then quiet.
A crow re-announcing the silence.
There, I will be walking, coming home again –

the men all gone, the centrebeam cracked,

the wood used up so long ago

it hardly seems I left in this lifetime.

And although you stayed on,

and worked, still you too know why.

Here, take back the condolences you sent.

Of course you were free to do as you wanted.

Now go. I've come to close up.