The wind is flecked with coming rain
and unexpectedly I miss the sea.
It roars through the trees
and I wish I could round the bend
and instead of woods the sea
would meet me,
salt spray borne across the crests
to greet me
ambivalent of my presence
yet welcoming all the same.
Oh that the end-of-winter-dust
blown in my eyes was instead
sand from a quiet sliver of beach
bounding the tossing, spraying, sea
in an effortless curve echoing
the smooth horizon
and the wings of the gulls
as they rise on the wind.