Square Poem #2

I found letters and wasted days unfolding until they cracked along their creases like my father's paper skin. My eyes blur the sun turning a corner. I think back to the last real winter and the wind which shook grout from the brickwork of 3803 Laval. I never learned to treasure that glass world or the ice February tied around my blinking eyes.

I found letters and wasted days unfolding on the morning streetcar pulling around Spadina Crs. Now I can walk through the blueprints of 1874 when we moved by omnibus pulled by draft horses along iron tracks. We round a corner and the sun ignites the dust rising from the machine. Ring that doleful bell and take me all the way to Union Station the dreams of a younger city made stone.