A Season Not Our Own

Let’s go where sheets of sea glide over sand, Scattering foamy blossoms at our feet, And ardent rays shall wounds of winter mend, Like suture needles closing warm day’s bleed. We’ll bare pallid skin to palm shadows’ arms, Open light-starved mouths to drink wavelets’ spark, And sated, chorus for tanned seabirds’ psalms, Through gold sprays let our naked spirits lark. When moonbeams descend to Sol’s embers glaze, Shall we then hibernate in sunburned air, And to sandaled Sirius lift our gaze, Whilst crickets sing of two runaways’ dare? O, we’ll stay when far winds have weary grown, Still at large in a season not our own.