Leaving, Like the Land Does

She loved him

the way the earth loves rain—

open, patient,

never counting how much it gave.

But some clouds pass

without breaking.

Some skies hold everything back.

So she learned

how fields do it—

how they rest

when nothing comes,

how they do not beg the season

to change.

She did not leave in a storm.

She left like dusk—

slow, certain,

with the light still warm

on her back.

What she carried with her

was not loss,

but knowing:

even the soil

must sometimes lie fallow

to remain alive.

And one day,

something would grow

without being asked.

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