He calls from distant shores,
at odd hours,
while the stars play hide and seek,
and wind whispers in his ear.
He calls home from distant shores,
where he finds peace on the ocean floor,
and comfort in the squeal of his rod.
He tells me tales of mosquitoes feasting on his skin,
while he celebrates another catch.
While he celebrates another day.
I hear laughter in his voice,
I can picture his eyes bright.
Long ago they shined,
in carefree summers,
thunderstorms awakened us ,
raindrops on the roof dancing,
romancing us from our sleep.
The phone dies down,
without any warning.
The last sound I hear are wind chimes,
engaged with the wind.
He will be gone another sunrise and
then he'll be back in my arms.