It’s woodsmoke scent Freya. I cannot resist
wondering if you still live
in Montreal content with all the harsh
winters, long, yet suitable.
I cannot help wanting you living pacific –
Carmel or Kyoto.
But now a chill breeze roils crisp, dry
leaves, gentles me back
to the kitchen, where I might come close
to forgetting, refuse
any wistful conjuring of these staggering
years. I want a reverie –
you living anywhere you have whispered,
here will be fine, this
will do quite well, and you can embrace
all that will come next.
