his leaving (a sestina)

he never turned back. packed his bags and left,
beyond the circus and history in his pocket.
goodbye, old world. I’m on my way now,
he stepped on the gas and drove away.
thirteen years ago when he was young.,
every fledgling has those reasons to leave the nest.

he walked onto his porch, saw the bird fallen from its nest,
and looked to telephone wires to see if the winged parents had left.
this featherless embryo with bulging purple eyes, so young,
beak open wide for insight (the creature could fit in his pocket)
had fallen from his house, quiet, that day and he needed to find a way
to get the lil’ guy back to shelter. now

seemed as good as a time as any, he thought. While the parents
were away, he climbed up to the roof and found the finch’s nest.
he felt it was his fault. in his world, it’s always
his fault, and besides, he could never be sure, himself, how many days he had left.
He put the bird back and climbed down, placed his hands in his pockets,
and thought about how vulnerable we really are when we’re young.

when he was younger,
he promised his family he’d be ridiculously rich, but now
he made very little -- crumbs -- and his pockets
were filled with poetic lint. perhaps this is why he harnessed
every moment for what it was. whether he turned right or left
he’d always tried to find a figurative way

to gain meaning. his friends thought it was his getaway,
his escape, but this solitude, this introspection, made him younger.
even so, he knew there were only three weeks left,
and he recognized he’d probably never really know
where his heart actually was.....in this nest
or back home. he grabbed a piece of gum from his front pocket.

he used to know which of his parent’s pockets
to pick when he needed comfort and/or a way
to get what he wanted. the gum was spearmint and he watched clouds, nestled
in gray patterns of his unconscious. Carl Jung
would approve, for he knew
the brain worked in depths deeper than mere right brain or left.

In his Kentucky pockets, he carried his younger
New York days, findng a way to move on: yes, maybe, perhaps, no.
Leaving the nest was the way to go, so he left.