four postcards scattered around the walls
scattered
                    around
        the                         walls
of my childhood bedroom

    all my visible proof that I have left and left again
measurable number of sunsets
until the smell of air will change again
and I will be saved once again by your desperate hug
my only real proof
                                                my nature of leaving again

three sweaters holding the ocean breeze between the knits
slowly replaced by the sweet sound of bees
visiting green fields beside my old house
wondering where you sleep this night
two empty hands covered with warm kisses of the sun

one promise
                                      your nature of not saying “goodbye”