The impossible happens once…

There is a sprawling city
of sepia-toned memories,
cobwebbed in
the back of my mind,
so easy to miss.

If any ghosts still walk there,
drunk and laughing –
no more than
thin maples
embedded in the concrete.

I remember
the muted snow,
the sound of our steps,
and all that ice melted at once —

My flushed cheeks
and squinting blue eyes—
greater somehow,

All those doorways
on cobbled streets,
and you might
knock on mine.

That is how magic works.


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