Dear an hour north the trees
are already shuttered leaves
whip my face and the lake
is lashed to whitewash while
back home our initials grow
dim erosion smoothes cement
and names and your lover writes me
letters detailing your predilections
in colored pencils asking for friendship
I suppose she does you well out here
in the forest the season is brewing
and no one minds the strange
accent the new girl wears around
her neck with a cross our senses shatter
on punctuation and dropped Roman
vowels streetlights and shadows
follow sirens deep into the maze
of named streets while here a fox
has been eating chickens one by one
in the skeleton night where once
a shiv of moon grew flat on our lake
while snow fell and held the light