James Miller

Again my breath becomes the sea

as we sit here to drink and rest,

to let the moon move in slowly

above the dunes as day digests.

I want to know your spirit’s wave,

the one that calls you from the pack,

and rising inside your gaze

breaks to say you can now sail back

to me on our porch of dreams,

to us and to what love still means

now as the world drinks its blood

and thirsty still will start a flood

that we like most will not escape.

Still we will love before death’s gate.