Zamorah

She was a space cadet, a bird-brained lass,
but we broke bread and drank a dram or two
on more than one occasion, to be sure.
Oh, many is the time we spent caught up
in long deliberations over things
like politics or normal happenstance.

I’d pour us each a glass of fruity wine,
then hang my jacket on her jetsam wall
beside the open window. In fresh air ‘
no ordinary air, I ought to add,
but Frangipani scented purity ‘
we’d talk above the ocean’s shifting song.

I loved her, in a way. I think she cried
the day I said, “Adieu.”