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A Girl Standing in Front of an Abandoned House

The spectre of return –
welcome home.
After a summery green
red turning gold,
after the pageantry of picnics
an everywhere kind of loss.
After wind,
bronze, brown,
after falling,
finally, friable,
no longer but earth-bound.
Sodden, yet, still storied,
but not to have been told –
welcome home.

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