Echo of the Wind

“The wind remembers both silence and song.”

A wind moves through the branches,

not the chatter of autumn sparrows,

but the hollow cry of spaces left behind.

✦

It tastes of smoke and stone,

of fields stripped bare,

its touch lifting the last brittle leaves

and scattering them into dusk.

✦

Every branch bends to listen.

The air itself becomes an echo,

carrying voices I cannot name—

perhaps the lost,

perhaps the unborn,

all pressed into one long sigh.

✦

I walk beneath it,

my own breath caught and carried,

woven into its endless refrain.