She went where echoes meet the rain,
Beyond the door, beyond the pain.
She asked again, “Where’s my purse?”

Time loops back—each moment a verse.
The noon was bright, but not for her.
She moved like mist—unsure, unsure.

I wrap her in that mustard thread,
Love worn thin, yet never dead.
She speaks through me, her baby boy—
I bathe her feet, I bring her joy.

She went there—still, I go too.
Her breath is mine. Her love, my glue.