Remember the honeysuckle ’gainst the pillars on the porch? The place we were born is an open field now. Remember the window open to the night, the breaths and sighs of oleander bright, and tallow? We are their yield now. Here we stood, lips parted by our pipe, in a cloud of hallowed smoke. Remember the honeysuckle ’gainst the pillars as we spoke? It’s where I kneel now.