i answered the wind
(calling me softly)
with a sigh of my own:
i have no more tears to give to the dead.
yet i linger still, unable to turn away.
the leaves within my heart are burning,
their smoke stings my eyes,
forming a cloud that blocks the sun.
the wind stirs again
brushing my cheek gently,
like you would do.
there were tears left after all.
i freely let them fall.
6/23/1991
