By Adrian Harte
i was the ferocity of summer day
the pyrotechnics of those same nights
you constant as the gulf stream
supplanting frigidity with balm
me a gentle breeze on your neck
a first snowflake melting on the road
you the equator and all the tropics
bulging but always in the right place
i floated a cumulus adrift
you pulled the tides, as told by the moon
i was waving – and drowning
you at sea level, impervious
i was weather, and you were climate
changeless, even in this gretan age
the concrete shelter for my tangled ribs
forever whispered to fairweather folly