The wheat grass
holds up hues of home
warmer than it's always been
shading the surroundings
something more north than south,
more winter than summer --
the window
a hearth in the blur of a storm;
the tall overgrowth fans the backdrop
engrams of a place
filled with only the things
you wish to remember
we look at old pictures, and laugh
in the same way that distances
softened home,
always through the outside.
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