The elephants may be leaving soon;
they told my only daughter.
And if she could,
she would walk away with them.
So then I would follow too,
in the solemn grace of their procession
in gentle eyes
and heavy footfalls,
past the furthest lonely landmarks of the Earth;
to be swallowed by the sky,
the echo of their last trumpeting call
not far behind.
But the plastic models left behind
on my daughter’s shelf
won’t even blink;
standing empty as a still parade of ghosts.