ALT a photograph of nat raum sitting at a barstool in the mount royal tavern

ALT the sky said trans rights my dad and i used to saturday on the shores of loch raven or prettyboy when the snowfall season befell, tracing my camera lens across patterns of windblown ice and snow. tonight i touch my bare toes to the back deck’s knots and recall every other time the winter sky said trans rights, where the bands of white cirrostratus spread salmonpink through the setting sun against sealike sky and i stared until the westward suburbs stole her away from me. in dreams i am waveside in the summertime, mountains away from swamp-level winters, but i see the most sugarflossed sunsets thread their way through january and february— mountain goat and water bearer seasons of soup and woodstove warmth, the kind i couldn’t attribute to the hottest summer.