I do not command you,
I only whisper.
Come back, soul
the figs have ripened without you.
The wheat fields waited
until their spines broke.
Even the wind
asked if you’d forgotten its name.
I carried your silence through checkpoints,
hid your breath inside my coat.
Each night I boiled tea for two.
One cup cooled.
You are not a bird,
and I do not cage you.
But the branches you once sang from
have turned to ash in your absence.
Come backnot as fire,
not as victory
just come back.
The olive tree bends
to make space for you again.
The world did not owe you peace.
But I do.
I owe you gentleness,
a bed that doesn’t question your weight,
and language that doesn’t break your back.
Come back,
and I will not ask where you’ve been.
Only if you’re hungry.
Only if your
feet hurt.
Only if you’re still mine.