Now you walk through New York frigid in your layers
Flumes of farsighted taxis tunnel by alongside you
The agony of love tightens in your neck
As if you would never see those loved again
As if you were living in another nation where the gestures are unfamiliar
You are unsure of your consonants & use them delicately
You unfurl your tongue in slowmotion as you whistle
The threads of your throat coat
Three slips of wind
It is a song on its way to lovely
And it will be neither taken nor given away freely