Do You Remember?

Do you remember how we returned each day,
Deflated, scattering our clothes about the room,
Anchoring our shoes by the bed?

Or how we lay breathless by the window, open to the lake?
How the wind would enter,
Tentatively, curious, its soft paws touching us,
Then pulling away?

And how we threw open the curtains,
—The light spilling from the room—
Twilight inviting us out
To sail the uncharted estuaries of the night?

Do you remember how we woke,
In the grey, embryonic light?
How we dressed, hopeful,
Together for another day?