Without a sequel.
Everywhere he looked he said goodbye. Every word he spoke was large with parting, parting getting harder as he got better at it. He saw the face of days begin to flake like weathered homes and home grow cold with hollow rooms. He mouthed the names until his throat grew choked with slurry silt, held photos in his palm they curled like fish. He rubbed the burlap of his skin, his muscles creaked like rope his blood was wood. He listened to his heart his heart was slowing. He willed his arms be warm a little longer, hooped them round the world the world slipped through. He wrapped them round his head his ears were singing. He couldn't free the glacier of his tongue. He wept the dew that grows on stone and slowed to stone, his lungs a fossil bed, his tendons tar, his song a bone. Everywhere he looked his loss called stay. Everything he turned to turned away.