September reminds me that the wind is always dying. I remember the first time I left my world the earth was a split vocabulary: the first time I ran away; first time I fainted like a nocturnal animal; (first time I died and did not die). It became too easy, for the wail of the ambulance to blend in with the sidewalks. Like building a skyscraper, over and over again, until it became the sharp blade of a mountain or steeple. Of course, there was a you, and between the two of us, what were we but frightened? Oh, my accident! Do you remember the night I listened carefully to a love song but felt unable to hold you to my thrumming aches?