the Wind

the Wind is back
with her willowy fingers
and her icy breath
she’s stroking the hair
scratching the cheeks
rustling the leaves
like the pages of
an oft-read book
she’s stirring the smells
summoning the memories
of all the Winds
long blown by
she’s fanning the fire
drying the polish
smearing the lipstick
whipping the trees
and undressing their branches
while whistling whooping wheezing
roaring with laughter
the Wind has returned
dragging reluctant Change at her heels


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