homecoming raze there's been no sign of you since june of last year. no notes scrawled on brick or outer bark. no whispers of your whereabouts. by now i know an absence of this length tends to spell the end. of hope, or life, or whatever bond was built. but here you are on family_day. the fur of your face thinned by the declining cold. you aren't a ghost or a grief-induced hallucination. nor have you forgotten me. my eyes fill with water. which is most of what i am. i feed you for as long as your hunger and patience will allow. then i watch you flit from fence to faded canopy until your fragile frame is lost to me. soon you'll shed winter's weight and wend your way back into the lithe dancer you were when all was and slow and sweltering. i hope you let it happen here, with me at your side. 260216 what's it to you? who go blather from