hereyeson the horizon

We have been drawn together by our scents. Holding onto each other in unconscious states where we make the air warm between us. And then we can't remember much else (only that feeling) so we meet again to see what it was.

What a funny way to spend an entire day- drinking until it feels like afternoon and then all of a sudden it's evening. We are cheering together with the tables of older folks (with stickers on their faces). We are celebrating every cheer with swayed down hugs and kisses and those older folks scoff at us for being so silly maybe, and yet they are smiling at us too because we are so young and so happy right now.

You keep telling me that I've got gypsy hair, and the old Czech man (drinking half Creemore, hald Guiness) scolds you for saying that, sayin' I ain't no gypsy and if you only knew what that really meant (to him) then you would take it back! He turns to me and asks me where I found this one, and I don't even really know.

You lead me through empty houses that you have been working on with your hands, through icy streets that threaten to take us down again. Crossing partly frozen streams and treking through snow as deep as I am tall, to stand in the harbour and look out at the frozen water and wood. There is a boat that seems to be full to the brim with rotting fish so we have to run all the way back to the road, following that flattened full moon and wishing we knew more constellations.

Now you are up in the sky, probably overtop of Saskatchewan about now. I hope that you got your window seat to look at the tiny wooden houses (having left the bricks behind). I hope that you will fly back this way again someday.