In Some Time (after “Hummingbird” by Raymond Carver)

Yumin Shivdasani

Suppose I say youth,

write the word “summer,”

tear up the paper,

capture some black flies in an envelope

and mail them over the years

to you.

When you open the yellowed seal

will you remember

the thrash of the pond

and how,

when you strained

to the topmost bough of the maple,

you could watch the mountains be?