It would never be just one last trip.

 

I would promise myself

that once I uttered, with tears in my throat

catching my breath and stalling the moment

in my final

goodbyes to the stone faced French lady

on the waters, no sword in hand, a now skewed vision

of what it was to be part of a less free world

in her dead expressionless eyes,

a monkey on her back, damned dirty

politics playing games with a woman I love,

it still would never be goodbye.