I dream of Glasgow’s neon glow,
Of splashing lights on trees and snow.

I dream of Stockholm’s wintry air,
The way its snowflakes kiss your hair.

I dream of dinners at Amsterdam:
A glass of Shiraz, some prosciutto ham.

I dream of places, somewhere far
Where sunlight’s kept inside a jar.

Where nights are long and winters reign,
And the cold, cold silence speaks your name.

Speaks your name.

Your name.

Your
Name.