You can follow the vultures, circling, and you can walk the roadside ditches, search where the weeds are thickest.
Sometimes, someone will whisper, there are places in the hills where rocks are rearranged. You can lean a shovel against the house, ready.
Sometimes you can imagine waking up and he's back. His shoes have moved, his chair is pulled back, his bed unmade. But you are only waking up.
You want to sense his presence. It has been too long for worry now.
If they march to your door, you will act sincere, say he has gone,
to the city.