The backseat car window
holds a view
I never want to lose:

A normal-looking house.
Our house.
Becoming
smaller
smaller
smaller
until I can barely see it in the
horizon
of blue, sympathetic sky
and wide wheat prairie
tousled in the breeze.

My favorite sight
is out of sight
forever.

I turn back around
and see a new sight—
our new house—
now I will get used to
seeing and living in
it.