When distant wishes calling you
in breezes rushing off the bay,
return, as blush of deja vu,
of distant whisper calling you
to kisses spent at twenty two
which purchase now this windswept day:
insistent whispers hushing you
with breezes, shushing off the bay.
This shallow bay. The frozen salt
and sea grass mounding on the beach
from winter wind which howls and halts
the shallow bay whose blowing salt
turns words that it was no one’s fault
to whispers muted each to each.
This shallow bay, with frozen salt
and sea grass mounded on the beach.
Our yearling years, in early March
embraced and braced against the cold
and facing futures by and large
from yearling years in early March
that won’t contain the burning torch
we feel can singe us till we’re old
past yearling years in early March
embraced and braced against the cold.
If distant wishes call to her
in distant breezes where she may
be standing on the sand somewhere
perhaps resistant and dismissive there
to daydreams blowing in the air
I hope she sees just yesterday
for me, were kisses that we shared;
distant breezes, off the bay.
