And there you are, breaking my skyline,
Low puffs and the placid sea—
Morning or evening?
The Silver Sun shimmies free,
Shakes her hips loose, does the Fire Dance
With me.
And there you are, breaking your silence
The wintry frost blinding lucently—
Lark or Whippoorwill?
She sings her symphony
Full-throated, a rhapsody in blue
For me.