Lyric

I kept the fallen ones

Along the window seam

Their edges paper thin

Their veins still shaped like green

I placed them by the pot

Where morning used to land

A drawer beneath my bed

Held stems inside a sleeve

I pressed them flat between the pages

They made a brittle sound

Small proof that something once had grown

In air I almost knew

I called it memory

I called it care

I called it keeping something rare

But every shelf grew heavier

Leaves I Kept Too Long

Brown at the edges

Soft in the wrong light

I kept making room

For what had already left

And mistook the dry for green

A jar beside the sink

Held fragments from July

Curled little half-moons of a plant

I could not let go dry

I watered what was living

Then touched what would not mend

I called it patience

I called it grace

I called it saving every trace

But all the tender air went still

Leaves I Kept Too Long

Brown at the edges

Soft in the wrong light

I kept making room

For what had already left

And mistook the dry for green

Not every ending needs a drawer

Not every loss should be displayed

Some things return more gently

When they are given back to clay

Leaves I Kept Too Long

I know why I kept you

But the new small leaves need light

And the old ones need the soil too

I can let the dried things fall

Without throwing green away

One by one beneath the rim

I loosen what I saved

The pot is not emptier now

It only has more space