Zephyrus

zephyrus

It’s nearly middle June when Zephyrus stirs,
exuding coastal mist at dawn and night,
exhaling onshore breezes. Now occurs
our comic season: long in golden light
but short on heat, mosquitoes, thunderstorms.
There’s wind upon my face when I face west;
our hemisphere is ratcheting to warm,
but here we’re chill in several layers dressed.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’ll gladly give a starscape for this air.
It costs, but I’m out walking every day,
and though I can’t go sleeveless, I don’t care
as long as I’ve this wind against my throat,
for Zephyr’s kiss is slumber’s antidote.

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