I know I’m done with a place
the same way I know when a poem is finished
All endings have their natural cadence and come to rest
Though sometimes I love them too much and the endings get messy
or play hide and seek.
Will you just let me be?
To do and offer, this?
Or must you torment me with your boring rants for some purpose?
As if to show me like a weed I can grow even here.