Chris Hutchinson

Hello sodium-lit street. Complicating
rain. Bicycling wind. Gyratory wind-
sexed rain. Hello reflective pools. Ripples

flexed like bowstrings. Ancient
cavalcades of mist escaping streets
known only to those travellers the cold

has led astray. Hello wolf-coloured
smoke, guarding the entranceways,
marking the unseen exits

with your scent. I am the maze
that greets you, the cold that turns you
by the wrist. Each footstep

a question the other answers
with a question. Each breath readdressed
at the intersection of each breath.