The End of All Things

The lad emerges
In the morning which feels like afternoon
With afternoon sounds of people heading home

Loneliness has it own smell
Like an old violin packed in the attic
With long, spidery slow notes

The season grinds on
Into another season
Different wardrobe, different mail

Same room
Same doors and chairs
In the photograph one cannot tell if he’s going to sit or just got up


You’ve met me somewhere in Montreal. Perhaps I took your picture! Please send me a message to say hi, or get a copy.

Vous m’avez rencontré quelque part à Montréal. Peut-être que j’ai pris ta photo ! Veuillez m’envoyer un message pour me dire bonjour ou en obtenir une copie.