Same

Jenna tried
to make this place
home for me, pasting
pictures on the wall
with blue red yellow
paper frames.

Early in the morning
lying on my bed,
having just climbed
out of my jars

high-beam headlights
from speeding cars
on Russell Boulevard
imbue these pictures
with some semblance
of life–

they climb
off the walls
and whisper
there is no home
for you anymore.

Changes have come.

But still the tule fog
drops in from the Sierras,
tract homes still
mar old orchards,
and familiar things
remain the same.