In the morning

the storm has passed
and left behind
purple mountain clouds
and the white-capped ocean
pounding shore.

Trees sway to the unseen 
touch and breath of wind,
like me to yours,
encircling from behind,
whispering in my ear.

Our cottage creaks
on the sloping sand
and beckons with warmth,
breakfast,
a tousled bed.

Scott Speck
06/13/99