February

I could forget it all on evenings like this

The names, the dresses, even our relations

Everything could be taken by the lights of the town and its weather

The process had something to do with the buildings

Their vernacular of flint and brick

But there is also the matter of the people

How many there are, do we know?

Can we trust the data?

The dogs at the borders, lapping it up

Must surely just have their own reasons

And there are dogs wherever a line is drawn

The map on my phone tells me not just location but the time quarter of an hour from a drink

And that is all the news I can handle