Echoes in the Gums

Mornings arrive without asking,
wearing the hush of unfinished goodbyes.
The fences remember calloused hands
that no longer lean across them.

Somewhere beyond the hills,
the road is still swallowing laughter.

The parrot that returns to the bedroom windowsill
still mimics the voices it never learned to forget.

Leaves whisper through the gums,
and somewhere a school camp cabin
still carries the late-night whispers
inside the memory of the gum trees.

And the land keeps speaking
through everything
that have learned
how to leave.