Almost

I sit cross-legged
in the garden
on the warm earth

Sweet peas
wave to me
from the trellis.
Morning glories nod
and curl into sleep

As night
sets the stars alight
the breeze
whispers you
against my neck
almost as if you were here

 

I’m breezing in slightly late with a Quadrille for Bjorn at dVerse.  He asked us to write a poem of exactly 44 words including the title, and use the word “breeze” somewhere in it.