The way the wind raps on the window,
Half-opened, a quiet rattle
Singing on the stars, which bring the night.
Hearing the world beyond settles little,
But the need to move without care,
And without shape.
To think, with what exotic locale
You share in a breath?
Tunisia, Fiji and on –
Wind moves and swirls between the
Here and there, only to fall back to you,
Lacking the strong spice of where the heart
wishes to carry you, and the thick, clink-clunk
Of the window keeps you up at night.