a poem about Montreal
If memory weighs upon summer, it’s the hues of August that suffer If transcendence is regaled to a greyhound, it is left at the port of disembarkment
What will feed summer if not motion?
If not fumes of highway greenery?
a poem about leaving old friends
If that which I love leaves me, I bend time to bring it closer
If that which I know grows no longer beside me, only appearances suffer
Goodbye is never a final offer
Especially when it comes to us, it is only an invitation to return
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