Written by: Darryl Davis

And again it returns
tugging at my eye lids.
It whistles from passing

cars, trunks of trees,
tops of shutters closing
in the night around us.

What am I if even the
ever blowing force of
nature cannot sweep

away yesterday's regrets
or shoo tomorrow's fears
from fertile ground?

Why am I in here -
a thing amongst 
things - and not out

there, holding the
wind's tail with one
hand, happy, nothing?