Salty sea breezes
I’ve heard tell of such things,
though it’s quite a march to find them,
and March is half a calendar-year away.

Souls blow in, I reckon.
Whisping across cheeks and thighs
and other barer skins and through
the hair and through the heart
of things.

Confused, I imagine, for some
salty sea breeze.
Perhaps a bit less briny.