It's not every time
But sometimes
I'll hear that song play
And my heart will ache
In the gnawing way
That branches grind in heavy wind
Like tectonic plates and ice flows
In the fluttering way
A mouse's heart beats
When it's curled around its dreaming
I'll think of a person
That only exists in memories
The wet heat of summer
And the sun in their hair
Already beginning to fray
At the loose ends
