I wonder
where does it come from—
the intangible breeze
that whispers in
each morning
to dissolve with its
cool kiss the last
of my dream logic
and flirt
just a bit with
my diffident curtains?
The uneven
surface heating
due to elevation
which leads to
pressure differentials
on the far side of the planet.
But no, say my
cold toes, that can't
be the answer, can it?
It's far too impersonal
to have clambered
through my window—and,
to be the provocation
that I need,
far too certain.
