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 calm?