your Norwegian needs lead you to bundle your chin with

woolen scarves, rough & tumbled.

they left me shivery, my timbered limbs

shaken—that's winter, for you.

i folded into hot drinks that suffocate you

and humidify me, me and my throat, me and my

words. Hot, that's why you hate it.

summer is your hibernation, your face will

be a shadowed basement window until

next November. you Northern boy.

is it because the heat waves melt you down

a dripping candle stub, all corrugated and cut?

you're a hydrophobic: you cower from the water.

you want Snow. you want Ice. you want Cold.

i guess i'm just a little tepid, neutral

territory, i straddle extremes. hopelessly i seek to

tug you into fall

where i've landed, granted leaf-chains.

but you can't come, you can't.

you're icicle-bound to below-zeroes, and

they're sharp.

so there'll be no freeing you 'til spring.