as the front moves through

and the wind is blowing and it caresses my skin
but not as sweetly as you would
          the wind is simply the wind
                    no strings
                    no disappointments
                              no intimacies
                    but it sings me a song, sometimes, one I can never wholly translate into
                    words, cannot break down to little pieces
and surely that is love too
because it’s beautiful

and surely I would look out of place in a lovely moment like that
          anyway
rumpled, careless me, with windblown hair
and penchant for doing the awkward thing
          are you out there
somewhere?
          I can’t tell.
          I am a simple thing
          yet so, so complex, so full of tiny
          twists and turns I cannot wholly see myself
          no matter how I spin
          and leap and hop
                    my lonely dance
this lonely dancer, crooked hem draggling, somehow—
          dirty already?
the earth is soft beneath my big bare feet
          it tickles and I laugh
                    hike up my skirt
          quit thinking about how I must look
          long enough
                    to be 

flowerheads bob in the wind in the garden
          where are you?
I am no beacon in the darkness I do not shine
a hidden prize or one not worth the finding
          I can’t tell.
          any more than I know whether or not
          I’ll ever be kissed down the line
                    of my spine
          and cherished in a broken but wonderful
          human way
find me the human way
          I should know but apparently I don’t

when will this ramble end?
          when will the pity party, the fantasy, the yearning,
          the idle woolgathering stop?
                    summer mornings and fall afternoons
                    someone who pauses to really listen
                    to see what’s below the surface
I yearn for this, even I
even big little old young ugly beautiful me
          and the flowerheads bob
                    the wind blows
                              the leaves rustle