The End of Spring

When full-bellied summer came
to supplant the sweet spring,
she left in silence, like a recluse,
pulling the door closed behind her.
Before I could protest —
before anyone could even notice —
she’d packed her things and tied up her hair,
fingers soft in the moonlight.
And then she turned
and walked out into the brittle air of morning,
leaving behind
only sleeves drenched in dew,
and flowers
strewn about my feet
like a dropped handkerchief.