I see you through windows of less visited homes
in the light of a sky just learning to color.
Your face, an insistence of high speaking lines,
is unstitched slowly by the wind's just moving fingers.
With new and easy skin you raise your gaze
and wonder aloud again like a just crawling child.
Your feet move in steps ever-widening, wanting more
like leaves loosening in just changing weather.
You see me seeing you in a moment untutored
by the fine, established practices of just met people.
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