C A R Y L U N A

this wind reminds me
of you, though
truth be told it only
blows harder
on my recent home-
sickness for you;
and I can’t help
but note the timeliness
of this wind,
and how on early evenings
(just like this one)
with the sun and the wind
making shadow-play
on your cobblestone streets
as I’d climb them
to my hillside home;
and I can’t help
but note my bed sheets
on the line and flapping
in this late summer wind-
it’s almost too much,
I almost can’t take it:
if I close my eyes
it’s like I might just
disappear