Toronto

To the city that keeps us from touching
each other
To the point
where it crumbles

To the rocks that appear kinder
than most
To their hospitality hosting
the view

Suzanne Robertson

A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.
Joan Didion

The gestures that taunt and dance at me.
Not with me.
Words are twisted and returned, thoughts left suspended, feelings dwell in shallow holes beneath the earth that are filled with just some water. Dark water.
Questions are shy. Time shifted and stalled between either, a mimicked memory or the denial of a lost connection.

For me, the days are open again.