After the snow melts
all that was concealed
returns to itself shiny,
cleaned from the freeze,
the still and echo of cold
air holding darkness
like ash from a fire.

Mornings come home
as a family from a holiday,
the scent of absence
on the walls, and a refusal
clicks on the lights
to switch us open
to emptiness of the hallway.

Our returns are shuffles
to place down bags
welcoming you back
into your being
-the self of your own conscious -
to unpack without invitation.

The disappearance
defined by impermanence
once imagined as a failure.
Only to discover a postcard,
a picture of an osier,
written from impatience
on changes as touch,
a reminder for the fridge
on rewards of wakefulness.

Renewal comes
as a victorious relief
a spring from a diving board
to the floor of a pool
suspended in the blue
press of rising bubbles.

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