When I was young the wind would breathe
Through the trees outside my window
All summer long. Those green lungs
Expanding, turning the wind forever.
Now the seasons answer one into the other
Without a single question. The leaves
Swim around, tethered to the yard.
I wonder if they too reminisce of years
When they were young and stupid.
In little gusts roots mingle
‘Till the mark of time comes back
and catches hold, consoling me
in an airy pulse.
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