To return is to shuffle recollections,
to superimpose images
against what is seen, what is felt
under this different sky.
Where we stood has been altered.
Before us are rocks, black
against an earth, browned
by lack of grass and trees.
I fear the rains took away
whatever is left between us.
I can plant seeds here and there,
if you let me.
This side of the mountain
can return its color once again,
its past and present will be one,
if you just say so.
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