As the solstice approaches
Days shorten and shadows grow longer
Covering the yard by early afternoon

Our former home is the lone dissenter on the street
Unadorned with holiday lights, it is dark until early evening
When timers in various rooms nudge soft yellow lamps

The inside of the house is filled with cotton snowdrifts
Couches and tables and cupboards blanketed against dust
As shrubs and porch steps are covered outside

From a distance, across the street
The coverings appear similar

But I know that the snow is the softer insulation
For it will melt in the spring
Her flowers will bloom because of its protection

There is no such future for the interior
Filled with cold air before our hasty departure
No warm breezes will change that climate

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