Hello Goodbye Summer

GREETING

In April
the DQ on the corner
opens its shutters,
anticipates the summer.

In the small
parking lot a couple
sit inside their car
in winter jackets,
eating ice-cream,

dreaming of summer.



FAREWELL

In the late August evening
I'm cycling home,
picking lonesome
side streets
smelling of warm
breeze, conjuring
the scents of other
summers.

The overpass
tall grasses
are on fire with
crickets singing, yelling,
and my blue summer dress
fluttering, flapping
under the rotating
constellations.





Near Jean-Talon
I whir by a couple -
she's Italian,
we talked once -
walking their ferret,
looking and smiling
behind me
and


By the next block
it's somehow clear:
this is the night
the summer ends,
takes one last
curtain call,
doesn't turn back,
leaves us

dreaming into winter.