The warm body I left too soon

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.

Home NP

swinging from branches that were made for my frame …

 

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