The Breeze Brings to Me

What is it that rustles so,
so far away?
Is it you, Love?
Your footsteps that trail
the blades of grass?

Is it you, Love?
Your feathered arms that cut
and separate air?
And you clash amidst branches,
your wings between twigs.

The breeze brings to me
these sounds I hear.
I sit and wait for what it is.
It never comes – I then ask:

“What is it that rustles so,
so far away?”