Held back, another word to a false wisdom: eat, drink, take the ferry across the water, you sit but you get where you’re going; a land made from profound sadness, but only twelve feet under your toes, your baker’s dozen left one of your ideas out of the picture you formed in your head, homilies over-done, burned to a wisp, your leaves make the table wider and shimmer in a sunny day that is avoided by the off-leash dogs in a park dedicated to a river and situated on a lake; summer didn’t ask for your definition or to be remembered, but we, you and I, have constructed a frame to let our impressions play in front of the fireplace, when winter takes its days back.