The Wind (A Poem)

The wind that blows the branches,

Of the tree you sit with,

Next to your love.

The wind that kisses a leaf,

Making it fall onto your open book.

The wind that strokes her face,

In a way you wish you could,

Maybe someday,

Maybe.

The wind that blows her hair,

Like an invisible admirer,

Mischievous and impersonal.

Strands of Asian-black,

Like tentacles reaching out,

Trying to touch what isn’t there,

But you are.

Although someday you won’t be.

Perhaps you’ll imitate the wind,

Be her invisible admirer,

Mischievous and personal;

Stroking her face,

The way you always wished you could.

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Blessings,

Gavin