A Year of Poems – Day 27

Thin air pressed close
to skin through clothes
holding close, too close,
like a cloying lover
whose eyes hold no love

Love fails, or it should,
on nights like tonight
when the air has forgotten
the affection of the sun
and with a heart like ice
plays the harlot with the wind

There are faithful homesteads
where candles hold vigil
for the golden sailor
away on the western seas

By their hearths the
air hangs loose with
the soft affection of friendship,
which does not require
representations of reciprocity
yet receives fast affirmation
on this cold night without the sun.

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