I know that strange sense

as though your soul has grown too large for the small, quiet parcel of blue which bore you

feeling your newfound weight against the seams

dreading that its grey may dilute the colors you found in your time as a painter, a maiden, a wanderer

and simultaneously

that it too has grown in your absence.

to see the ferns and algae, growing on the half-abandoned name you now remind of your residence

to walk once more through those aching spaces, and nest atop your footsteps’ echos

to find that all you learned was a window

and to know

it too has grown

it never truly lost you

it too has grown

just enough to house you still

just enough to know

how to love what you became

while you were away