travelogs (3)

 as unremarkable as were our lives
 this was the world we knew in all its span
 and coming back it seems not large or small
 but just a place whose details once were keen

 within the eyes and minds still sharp with hope
 of me, my brother, sister -- in this grass
 behind this fence and up these gentle hills
 we played as children play, in joy and noise,

 as children still do near here, I can hear --
 and that a smile brings like nothing else:
 the universal pattern come to life
 in memories both gray and tinged with death

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