Wind rest

 

motor in the laneway
the wind is heavy
like a curtin rasping on the eves

the light is on over the sink
the moths hum against the 
yellow bulb

I can hear the waves lap down
at the dock and edge

Your footsteps closing
and there you are at the door
your eyes dark from the day
the night sweeping in past you

You are beautiful
and bold
and mystery clings to your
silence your swift movements
on your fine boned breeding

I prepare tea 
heating the kettle
taking down some cups
from the hooks

your little black boots
on the rack

denim jacket its patchs
you have so many beginnings
so many endings
like the worn brick towns
of the midwest
full of sunlight and windows
 
You've let your hair down
it shines in the flourescent light
chestnut brown with summer
highlights

"whatcha making..some tea?"
rhetorical and sweet
your voice wavers like cedars
brushed in storm gusts

"Yes,  Earl Grey  My favourite"
you smile and close and give
me a hug   I can feel the heat
of the sun on you still
can smell your supine velvet
purfume

rich and embosses

waves are picking up on the dock and shore

"Storms coming  I could see it north of here on the highway"
we havent had rain in quite some time

fridge door opens 
its cool light spilling out around you bending

"Do you have honey?"