"It is getting further away"

It is getting further away
The bliss of that bleak year

The blank kiss of that warm beer;
Know I captured the square when leaves

Filtered the sun a blindman's sieve
Through to the damp grass where we lay

That year, and that late-summer's day
stayed as an aroma of fresh pie

Or a distant balloon in the eastern sky
Then buoyed by a twitter of pigeons;

And when it was softly hidden
By pillows and pastures, a snow garden

In which we never went, ever uncertain,
For the square spoke for us instead:

"The real message was misread
From the white quiet nights, laid bare

By the auburn of her silken hair
And the bliss of that bleak year".