Sometimes, I wish I could bend
like I think I used to, when
kisses became part of late afternoon,
when pecan blossoms were carried
on a spring breeze

I don’t mind the cold so much,
as we’re husks now and it’s winter
and the horizon has more space
for imagining

It’s vivid dreaming where sun meets hills
and moon caresses the valley like home
and it’s comforting to think it’s for me

The seasons are at home in my skin
and in the places I go in the treeline

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