Every winter I freeze
In the tracks of Atlantic avenue.
Feathers shower the ground
As a storm brings the sailors
Home to mend
So the tea in the kettle can sing again
The somber tune of you and I
Formed from dust a lullaby.
Maybe our hands were not meant to meet
Below the light of a broken street.
Nor were our hearts.
Yours is quite fragile;
You wear shoes
But only walk with soles of blue.
I envy the moon
For it lights up your eyes
But somewhere between a nudge and a sigh
I swear I heard a muffled cry
And I find it quite redeeming
I think I heard you dreaming.