Sometimes in summer,sweltering in the heat
my brush decides to paint
what my body misses:
Today, reveling
in a faint but welcome breeze,
it chooses to depict
what I now see
is a cold north wind.
And so I begin to wonder:
what else have I not realized I crave,
what other truths and hungers have I not seen
that, painted through me, are revealed
to a watchful audience's eye?
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