I saw your laughter land amongst the branches and the telephone poles, you danced a different shade of green through the lawns, I thought of the many times I had stood on the bridge along Sun Street, all the festivals that happened there, and not once did I think to lean over the edge towards the river.
Our bones lay in the library gardens along with, perhaps, the skeleton of a violin. Our families missed us because this is what we did, where we came, every day.