The Wind Still Blows

Good morning, again.
I’m still breathing. I’m still
Yours and still I’m unfixed
This Thursday in the middle of
The dregs of winter. Occasionally it
Occurs to me to believe that
This will be the best we get
And that seems awful, and then
Occasionally, after a night
Like last night when
Everything was exactly the
Same as the night before and the
Night before last, except that
The wind still blows this morning
Hard and mean and off the
Sound, I find myself in the
Tunnel pushed from behind and
Then I feel the momentum.

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