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How again after months there is awe.

The most personal moment of the day

appears unannounced. People wear leather.

People refuse to die. There are strangers

who look like they could know your name.

And the smell of a bar on a cold night,

or the sound of traffic as it follows you home.

Sirens. Parties. How balconies hold us.

Whatever enough is, it hasn’t arrived.

And on some dead afternoon

when you’ll likely forget this,

as you browse through the vintage

again and again—there it is,

what everyone’s given up

just to stay here. Jewelled hairpins,

scratched records, their fast youth.

Everything they’ve given up

to stay here and find more.