Fifty-Three Fifty North

Earth for others, home is scaffolding
for you, will be till you stop thinking
winters and summers through windows.

See! The world is round. The arcs are mapped
that shadows mark on vacant yards below.
Your room, now ours, has walls of light.

This will be our one last look at weather.
From the west a range of clouds in storm
will raise welts across the purple prairie.

Gusts will speak like we once spoke
with one another. Rain will finally fall
in shimmering sheets, like medicine.