You say songs sung in the snow
strip the heartstrings bare...

The palette
of our speech...

the wind
pushes...

The prosody of your speech
And the melodies of your eyes...

The constancy, the repetition:
that’s what I loved...

I don't know who or what or when or where,
but the faces by the window blur and smear...

So here we hang
on the wishing tree...

When we looked into the horizon, so deep
and sunken into the setting sun, we could...

In the tomorrows to come
(no matter how many or few...

We laughed
Until we forgot...

With me as a poodle
and you being you...

I still had so much to say
between our stunted farewells...