“It’s windy out there,
You’ll catch your death…”
She says, with a casual stare,
Murmuring under her breath,
Totally unaware
Of my casual affaire
With the wind…
The only entity that didn’t care
About sagging skin and looks
No longer fair
To look at…
With no critical stare
Or visible flair,
The wind embraces me
Caressing my face
That no one has kissed lately…
“Get back inside, already…”
She yells from the porch
Forcing down windblown skirt,
Apron and grey hair…
“La donna e mobile,
Qual ' pium al vento…”
Blares the radio.
I wish we could elope…
With diminishing courage,
Even at this age,
One lives with hope.
Tatul Sonentz
2016
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