I say I’m from the hills 

as the oaks grow down the street 

nearer the bungalows 

nearer the memories 

nearer Bathurst 

                                     loathe the non-trails from afar 

                                     I walk through the grove 

                                     behind the golf course 

                                                        (one step away from the farm 

                                                         one street away from the mall) 

localities encompass me for hours 

boundaries bind nothing 

to my disconnected personality 

I say            no one cares about the Greenbelt anymore 

           I say         remember when this was a vacation? 

                constellations cut through by planes 

                passing by and Cassiopeia looks at me 

                spinning round to see her upright 

                                                                            she must wonder if I know about the kettles 

all are (un)aware of all 

tall evergreens 

pines scratching the surface

rooted in holes made by schoolkids 

next door next to

the door after that 

next to the Performing Arts Center and the haunted house 

and the only good sushi restaurant 

no matter which “town” you are “in” 

              some thing is similar 

              surrounding