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.