The Breeze and I

The breeze was there with me

as we remembered her miracle’d young blush 

and her twice ivoried cheek moons

in the broken shared air

of our lithe December secret,

and make a laugh, I’ll always entreat

when walking down slowly home.

She pleased the grateful ocean’s breeze

as we sat in the wide blanket sand.

It comes nightly here too,

wants to hear her again, like I do,

and thinking, she must have come back by now.

But worried—will she ever come back.

Her voice has never gone

from my every morning’s moist cold open window

as the Breeze and I breathe in

and look out it for her, from my sad lazy bed

as I have a thousand days,

blinded by the ghostly stance of her,

All I have now for joy.

All I have now for joy.