105.

The wind was slapping the water, and the surf

Mounted like whale-spout, the weather

Was out for blood. I thought of Nantucket

And the Vineyard, how those ancestors

Could turn for love when the ships and docks

Were seeped with blood. The Quakers there shook

Before the law. I may be conflating time,

But that is how the wind shook me, taking

Mind-hand into a net of metaphor.

But the wind is the wind, and water water

And slapping is what Hermes left at the door

Even suggesting that your breath is what makes

Love a wind and words, breathed, lovely.

No wonder lovers want to be left alone.