I send you morning at about nine.

This morning. With the gulls blown inland

Over the suburbs, meaning storm,

But the air new, the tall sky gray blue.

Wind rattles the windows and the trees.

More than a breeze is blowing clean

My words to tell you what I mean.

I send you this morning.

I send you the sudden warm

Knowledge I have now that night

Never can be dark, that this wind blowing

This morning will blow it white.

And still believing you care,

I send you myself as I stand here

In the world's air without fear,

This morning.