I remember the words that poured
Down the lake through Lasalle Park
The time when you told me about your skin
Covered by layers of wool so thick
The wind blowing our intentions cold
And you lent me your gloves that were too large to fill
I was taken here before
By a woman seen in a photograph by these rusty rails
We ate tacos under the moonlit autumn sky
As she professed her intentions and her disease
The water beating her whispered words
I followed her into the city lights
I am here again, on a broken park bench
A book with no intentions accompanied by
Birds and the setting sun over Canada
Strangers in booming cars on this clear day
As I watch the oily waves that remain constant
That have yet to carry me away
The wind grows momentum as the sun sinks
The chill comforting my body hugged by
A blue t-shirt and crossed arms
For I remember you, and a time when you told me
That this was the end of this town
Yet we begin
