our regular date comes around,
3 hours every 3 years

i had missed your singing
to digest life’s casual backhand blow
but today we stroll the market holding hands,

“Look at that. We did land back in Europe”
as if yesterday,
backpacks still feisty as fresh horses
on these greater motherland soils
we’re slowly trickling into

it’s that old scene again,
the witches sit on benches
under rain stars and fire
and discuss devotion
from men who are children,
kids rise in great conjunctions on the horizon
and the chop-wood tending, tending to our temples.