wind

A kaleidoscope of faces.

Each, a thread

Tethered around the edges of who I am.

When the wind is high

And stillness, laughably far away

(in the recesses of time, I think-

or perhaps, of memory)

A friend’s voice, over the phone:

there’s a recipe I should try

or music you think I might like.

The gale recedes, and we’re back.

I’m on the window seat

You’re choosing outfits for us-

it’s cold, but a light jacket will do

When laughter coats your skin

in gold,

instead of night.