Leaning Into the Gone

She folds into herself,
as though sorrow might soften
if shaped by her own hands
as though grief could be gathered,
held still, and made small.

Behind her, he lingers in gold
not quite gone, not fully here
a presence that offers no weight,
only the illusion of closeness.
Enough to lean toward,
never enough to remain.

The world continues in its green indifference,
unmoved by the quiet unraveling.
And she, wrapped in blue,
wears the color of knowing
the moment she learned
that some souls do not leave,
they transform
into light through glass:
visible, glowing,
and forever beyond touch.

Object number

088.061