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Wind Sang Aound Me
The wind laughed,
not at me, around me,
but through, as I remain.
The wind laughs at everything
because it will always be the wind.
This dawn, as the wind ever blows all in its way
felt not strong to move from slumber to dismiss
in so many shards
fallen bits of myself,
glistening, broken clean, neat,
cutting my feet,
sharpening heart shards
on the fracking field of me
in diminishing parts
until heart, shards, matter and bone
heaped,
seeking neither due nor atonement in the breeze.
“Themselves”, the wind whispered
moving through around and over
this pile of stains, me.
“They always do it to themselves”,
a chuckle of sighs
and a snappier ditty blew on others,
my stains already a memory.
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