A Light Breeze

The wind blows platitudes through my hair, a few come to rest on the soft flesh of my scalp. Slowly, so slowly, like an ant hill, they permeate my skull and carve soft caverns in my brain. On days where I have nothing to say, all the love on my tongue has dried up, I'll go fishing in their reflective pools. The fish are smart though, wary as an unfamiliar roundabout, and I sit, invisible string making ripples on the still, pink water. Eventually, the line is pulled taut as an occupied swingset- good things come to those who wait.