If You Are The Wind


If you are the wind
then I am stretching
myself across you,
with you
arms open, like sails.
If you are the wind
then I am whispers, lost,
coalescing, transforming into one
quiet rush. Silence.
If you are the wind
then I am the soaring bird
wings beating, heart
pumping, matching stroke
for gust.
If you are the wind
than I am the dandelion seed, twisting
spinning, caught
in your embrace
traveling miles, seeing a sky
of which I’d never dreamed.

But you are not the wind.
And I am standing on the edge
of a hill, watching the snowflakes
swirl around me,
my face pink
and cold.


This poem appears in Marisa Donnelly’s book, Somewhere on a Highway, available here.