Open Field with Two Trees, e.e. cummings
There is a pattern of home that is made from the folds of rich terrain of which I am able to recall the scent, shape and character of the land more than I can accurately remember the names of any particular streets or townships.
This few square miles of space will always be home even though it is not home and has a design which sits in equally in and is imprinted into your heart the same as mine.
It could be the contour of a dirt road, the remnants of a highwall, or the curve of your shoulder. It is here that I imagine waking with you as the haze burns slowly into yellow.