How to Be Safe

I would just leave, one said, as
The haze flowed in from the west.

Oh, that’s no way to be safe—
To leave! Oft have I just left!

The words jigged the lines, in jest,
Or half in jest. Words are old;

Some of them don’t get out much.
Some are mere bones in the light.

Lo! Oft. Such small words. But soft.
Still here. They don’t want to go.

We should just stay put, one said.
Or you could leave, as thou hast

Left in the past. It’s all past,
Now, and haze grows in our heads.