driving home,
through streets welded against memory fibers,
a caffeinated eye notes the absence of trees alongside a golf course.
"the corner looks so empty,"
the voice notes.
"i think it's amazing that we can tell when something's missing.
i can't detail the flowers in my neighborhood
or the color of front doors now,
but when it changes,
I remember every splinter, petal, & needle.
maybe the emptiness changes its shading,
or something new-
signs
Virgin Mary statues
blow-up advertisements-
has been added.
regardless the edit,
what was calls to you."
the other voice has listened to her friend's reasoning and,
seeming to agree,
glances at the verdant void.
"i think it's amazing when someone doesn't notice."
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