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.