That city we let our thoughts pour into.

That winter we combed our hair till it fell

and we wondered, alone, how to cure death.

The spring the deer came

and filled the parks, ear-against-ear.

The fall leaves fell the colour of rabbits

and bees bumped inside our cheeks.

The winter you felt had just left when it came back whitemasked,

crying.

That summer.

That unseasonable feeling of something approaching

as the car crawls over the horizon line, and its wheels

slide from its metal body, to reveal its wings, to fly.