THE GUST of wind links you and I
As we breathe each other’s air, through nose or mouth–
It doesn’t matter at all.
As long as there’s wind to tickle the skin
Of workers, lovers and wanderers
Walking under the sun’s light
Inhaling dust and exhaling heat,
For it is a must, or there will be no us.
Day in, day out.
Sun in, sun out.
Sometimes the sun shines on our supple skin
Illuminating parts that once were covered
Like an old, sepian picture, highlighting not the sorrows of the moment
But tomorrow’s hope.
Yet at times the sun rages,
Wilting leaves and eavesdropping under roofs
Like an arsonist waiting to reduce us
Into flushed cinders and reddened spots.
Every year, the world becomes a bonfire
Until we are diminished into ashes inside urns
Burned or buried, but still under the sun’s searing powers.
