I do not know the colour of your eyes
I still have not seen winter
the air is still moist with summer
and the changing shape of the verandah
is still unused to strangers
I have not glimpsed the ocean
because you are away, a distant cry
like that of a gull in the seas extreme.
I do not know what it is like to taste
your silences, nor touch the cord
Of their insinuation.
Winter comes and perplexes
The way it is aloof and regal
sort of the way of white birds
the colour of snow is on the view
The window is smeared with cold.