On your desk I set a tangerine:
a relic of a winter quickly passing.
I’m reminded, fiercely, of a summer:
I watched the cemetery grass on my stomach.
You hate the wind blowing through buildings:
the coldness of fire, blister of a mountain stream.
When you broke down that night: your aunt / you
never have been / you shook that night /
Seasonal affective disorder is real: you
mutter under your breath on the highway.
The ant carries an orange peel past a headstone:
it carries her nearly as often.
I set a tangerine on your desk:
an engagement ring, winter-returned.