I want to run towards you on a windy day, through a rainy night, to your embrace. It is too stifling but it is home and is the home that keeps me pieced, the home that keeps me frosted. Such is the place where the river meets the ocean and where the birds sing desperately like they do at a cemetery, on a freezing February, in the middle of July. Sleep without the fall because the fall is the least marked facet of autumn. Dream the leaves of the love turned to cold, turned to clods, saved by the skin on your fingers and by ruined jeans.