A Song of Air

In the wind I hear train whistles,
echoes of distance, fingers of longing.

The emptiness inside my chest
grows like a lake in spring,

The wind pummels me.
Not even the whispers

of the goddess, the Queen of Rushes,
can lure me into passion.

Not even the shy Martine
can make me feel at home.

Maybe it's time to leave.
My music falls, crumpled notes

shoved by the gusts. Brittle.
My chance to live here has passed.

One of these days, I may follow
the ghost sounds down the tracks.