You can miss a place as you miss a person – with heart-held longing and aching arms. Stretching toward the place you were, the person you were back then.
Nothing stays the same, they say, but I’ve never met a memory that didn’t know better.
Some part always stays.
(You’re the warm body I left too soon, the granite rising in my dreams. Metaphors mixed and heavy as I feel you under foot, reading your roots like braille).
My roots. The way it rains. Everything – I remember.
swinging from branches that were made for my frame …