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He is waiting in a cafe and
the city goes back and forth
between spring and the autumn.
He stands up and walks into his
clinic and the patient blur from
man to beast, animal to human.
His cures, wilting into
death with each patients, body parts
being exchanged, life becoming
afterlife, continents
becoming islands. His hair is grey and
red and protestant and catholic,
his hands killing plants and
giving up his last right, holding his wife
feeling her age. His mind, it doesn’t
change, it doesn’t move, not between
the seasons, or into the
apocalypse.

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