When I leave, his sadness is simple:
He loves me here, close enough to sniff.
To him I am fragrant of  complete love,

A Cosmos that lives not in ignorance [1]
But in absolute trust of the Perennial.
He is too noble to contemplate Fall’s

Betrayal, and I too world-weary to forget
That in time I’ll return to find a Beagle-
Sized void in my incomplete, ignorant soul.

—

[1] “Cosmos are annual flowers with colorful daisy-like flowers that sit atop long slender stems.” – The Old Farmer’s Almanac