imagine every other stanza is tabbed over a tad...also the prompt was "Who are you?"

Walking down the hallways

of Longmeadow Street

mythologies of autumn

and scarves like time around my neck

winter is passing and

there is another six inches.

Wind and violins

orchestras stoke that

flue inside the living room:

empty save constellations

of fires unused or

passed--where is the

synaptic drive
where are we going?

Ancient myths like

stars like finding, telling:

this is an island this

hand holding mine, this,

mine. Winter again

and another six inches

fill the coffee cup.

Open city, love. Open

city holding mine

though when it breaks, it

breaks holding cities

holding mine: warm

full like quick cups

of coffee