You're Untied Again

Untied again, when you were used to being bound in,
when you were usually found forgetting the wild wind off the sea.
Let wet breaths begin, widen your mouth to suck them in.
They're coming out above your chin, and then they slide in and so sweet.
And to some silent bird, I sang "have you heard that icicles hang from your feet?"

What passed as fine, you'll think back on that sometime;
when from the darkness of the mine a few last diamonds lined your beam.
Into some shooting stream I'd spit out the dream that you would swim away with me.
Through from some milky sky I could remove my eye and sigh upon my side,
instead some future kiss that might not exist I will send to unbind your hands,
and hang the hope that you don't still miss the rope from a star that shone on an aching night alone.
And then some shaking song you might not sing along I will float upon the rough and loving winds:
You're untied again. You're untied again.
And that door is open. You can walk through it.