the memory of second homes

I am thinking
about the night
you were away,
how I began
repapering the walls,
trying to find
a stitched pattern
to ditch order,
to find peace
with the unaligned
corners you kept.
I am thinking
about your patience
in accepting me
with my insanities
included and forgiven;
you never collected
all the hugs
I owed you.
I am thinking
about your focus
on my distracted
eyes and hands
when I least
expected the flash
of your adoration.

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