And, how should I leave you? 

Open expanse, rooster crows, 

still mornings over stiff stalks

holding in place their rustle, 

their shift 

from dawn to midday. 


How do I leave you, now? 

Stand and stride 

back, turn my shoulder 

and rub necks with your 

spiced air, your 

ripe, bitter breeze 

that tussles my hair 

and tucks behind my ear 

your sad smile. 


But, should I now, how 

could I leave

with your petals caught in my sleeve, 

how can I leave 

with so much of me here

like a sand cloud 

settling over this clear plantation?