it’s strange the way names and faces
and inside jokes slip in and out of life
because life is a road is a river is a sky
and these people, they are, each of them,
a hitchhiker catching a ride in your car,
beside you for only that one ride,
they are pebbles being skipped,
whispering wishes, in your waves,
they are clouds, moving slowly,
forming pictures, then turning into rain
a goodbye riding in tow with every hello
it’s a strange profession
carrying the role of ‘stepping stone’,
every hundred or so days you
hear a hundred or so ‘hello’s and
restart the countdown to a hundred or so
goodbyes
— wishing you all well. thank you for the visit, every one of you