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On the Wind

The wind carries your voice back to me
So that you are never truly gone.
Even when I am alone,
Comatose on a solitary park bench,
I hear on the swift currents
As they break over the horizon
Your voice, singing to me
In gentle, airborne tones.

When I fall, like a phoenix,
I am born again.
My ashes are swept away
By the fierce, cutting wind.
I will never know for certain
How you came by your power
To command the clouds,
And yet your every sigh
Makes my flesh tingle.

When we began,
My world continued to spin.
Each new day was like every other,
Except for one crucial detail:
You were in it.
From that first moment, you decided
That one day in autumn,
You would master the great wind.

Even in the dark mecca
Of a crowded movie theater,
I feel a draft,
And I know you are not far.
Yet I am unable to determine
The air’s temperature as it used to be:
Has it grown warmer or colder
Since I first loved the wind?

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