The North Westerly’s whisper
he sees her walking like a loose silhouette
in shadows where absence has become presence.
Today the midday sun owns the sky
and diamonds sparkle on the turn of waves,
the heat is a slow march on streets folded in siesta.
She has been gone for longer than she was here,
yet his eyes still catch her beauty in others
and he recalls moments full with small promises.
If he could touch memories they would be warm
like her skin, moist with sweat that trickles,
perfect as a thousand miracles.