Sea,
wine-dark,
rolls on drunken waves
from sky to sky
and calls down boiling storm clouds
to drown my tears
in rivers of rain.
*
Voices in the fog,
ghosts of you and me.
I can almost remember
what we used to say,
but not how it felt.
*
It was the last time that we spoke,
and the words bounced back and forth
never taking hold.
I wish I could take those words
and twist them into the shape
of a bird or a rose
and give them to you again.
*
Take a song and sing it soft
to calm a stormy sea,
spread your crow black wings and let
the wind blow you safe back to me.
*
Beyond the humdrum
and the dismal damp
of November light,
sinking into obscurity,
the turquoise and fuchsia
and the flame red
of summer evenings
still sing to conjure up the moon,
and we will walk there
hand in hand beneath the stars.