there's no grass to be seen back home
for all the snow this year so
I can't rightfully imagine that it could be any greener
but the simple things like snow at home and
woodsmoke on the wind
and the lakes frozen for the first time in years
glassy smooth for ice-skating
all the winter on the other side of the world
forces a spring in my heart
pushing forth a greening bursting yearning
the tendrils of longing that grow so vigourously
they choke the host
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