Daybreak of your voice across the ocean
Swept through me like a fresh wind over water
And left my longing palpable and keen.
Now I’m walking the Brae in windy weather,
Dark, then bright, then dark as the cloud-shapes alter.
The vagabond wildrose blooms in the ditches,
Swaying in wind as it would float on water.
Over the next rise, a meadow of daisies
Is spotted with clover as dark as wine
Or what stipples you when you come from the shower
And lie down near me not entirely dry.
A drift of light rain falls across the air
As I walk the Brae away from you, caught
Up in flowers and the flower of my thought.

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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 5 Number 10, on page 38
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