On one morning full of rain,
someone ran along my beach.
You, a storm of white and thunder,
grabbed me by the neck.
Yelled to me— beautiful words,
that which I had never heard.
On some clear, dampening day,
you held my hand with violence
and spoke lightly
without opening your mouth.
I could do nothing but look upon you;
old eyes and older songs.
On this evening full of sun,
the wind whispers of my lonesome.
There are no clouds
to bless your spotless sky
and I sit alone in the sand,
right where you left me.