Wind picking up & blossoming through us:
Our hair whitens, turns metal
The gift of ghosts. The wind
Is like a huge ghost too
Scaring us in the night.

This is the night. We
Are scared. Where do we end up?
What forgotten business drove us here?
It would be good to wake
Except it all just metaphorises

Into dirt. We lie in it.
The wind won't make us cower nor
The dark or the light surprise.
Underneath the wind is a great stillness
Like the evening or the morning light.



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