She's gone her own way. Groping into the weeds.
The sunflowers stretched before her, the leaves falling in her hair.
You offer her your coat -
Your favorite, you wince as she takes it.
She returns it months later. She pretends you were a mute with your lips pressed against prison glass.
And the wound is where you are.
You break when she falls apart. But she walks effortless into that good night, smiling.