Winter wonderland and a fort of a thousand pillows
conjuring images of sky blue butterflies and
elevations of the transcended —
yet the persistence of
claustrophia in elevators and revolving doors
lingers in the air
like so–

One handed handling of a tiny cigarette,
little clouds of smoke ballet in the gorge,
the blank, white space that separated them both–
The wide abyss she has to cross,
the gulf  born from the silence
of words unspoken.

And empty, abandoned trains of downtown Toronto
unify to form his stance:
hand cocked, fingers curled, legs crossed,
as steeling, inspecting eyes stare down from an angle,
following stereotypes down to the dot.

Sooner or later, these triggers seep through,
uncontrollable and unashamed,
unwritten and uninhibited,
as it breathes and grows into tangible beings she can touch and revive,
the one-night reprieve
she will endlessly re-write.