I Am...

I am
a breeze, salt water scented,
blowing in
from Halifax harbour
on a crisp spring day.

I am
a kitten, charcoal gray,
scrabbling madly
at a windowed door
in an apartment on the second floor.

I am
a spoon, big or little,
nestled in
on a creaking couch
on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

I am
a promise, bent but unbroken,
unspoken,
of passion and solace and laughter,
hovering in the mid-morning haze.

I am
in a trunk, of leather and wood,
locked away
in neat stacks and careful folds,
at the foot of her bed.