When full-bellied summer came to supplant the sweet spring,
she left in silence, like a recluse,pulling the door closed behind her.
Before I could protest —before anyone could even notice
—she’d packed her things and tied up her hairfingers soft in the moonlight.
And then she turned and walked out into the brittle air of morning,
leaving behind only leaves drenched in dew,
and flowers strewn about my feet like a dropped handkerchief.
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