The cold came from the northland. The heat comes from piped steam.
We were huddled back into the quilts. Where some words faded to a dream.
There was beach and sand and seagulls. Fishermen grimaced at their nets.
A sound that made me homesick. And another that I forgets.
I’m trapped here in this city. Not as young as I used to be.
If I ever get out of here. You will find me by the sea.