Be my weather.
Blow through me like the wind.
Wind in invisible shapes about my ribs.
Rain on me.
Be my Winter.

For what do I wish?
Not for stone or for wood,
Nor of water or of flesh.
But to meet you in the space that lies.
Between a joke and a smile,
And beachcomb the empty mile.

Be my weather.
Blow through me like the wind.
Wind in invisible shapes about my ribs.
Rain on me.
Be my Winter.