I climb hills into clouds. I climb clouds into a perfectly preserved past of blue-gold light. I drink wine in blue-gold afternoons and watch the buildings fall down. Please go to the stairwell. Wait for me there. We all must suffer collapse and accumulation of dust. But please wait for me. Wait for the sun to go from gold to blue. I'll reach for you when the grass is quiet. We can listen to the storefront signs suck neon through their veins. I'll change your bandages and tell you about the car that went away. An empty car with my father's reflection stuck in the window.