North hill.

How do I say this?

I remember this--but it's not like a normal thing
You would remember.

Not in me do I remember, not in my sympathetic state--

No,
I'm seeing everything for the first time.  It feels that way.

The grass on the hill may very well have been
Here forever.

And the prime apples will never stop growing--they are growing everywhere,
Drooping from green crooked arms in the sky.

I no longer see my reflection in other people.